A Song of Spheres
by AllFiction01
Summary: Evil is Evil. Greater, Lesser, or even that middle ground, its all the same. This world does nothing but blur the lines with its reasons and excuses. So when the choice between two evils appear before the Witcher, he would rather not choose at all. However, this Game of Thrones will not let him go that easy... WITCHERxGOT crossover. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Yeah this is my first story, been reading fanfiction for a while and finally decided to throw my hat in the ring. I always thought that GOT and The Witcher would be a good match up so here it is. Please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors. Some good critical reviews would be nice, thanks**

**DISCLAIMER : I do not own the Game of Thrones (Owned by George R.R. Martin) series or the Witcher (Owned by ****Andrzej Sapkowski****) series. I'd be swimming in cash if I did.**

**This is the new first chapter, I will be going from here. I needed some more character interaction so this was made. The next chapter will be up soon.**

**Before you begin reading I think I should clarify some things. You do not need to know anything about the witcher to enjoy this story, because my story takes place right at the beginning of the first game. So I will reveal a lot of information about the witcher Geralt and how he acts, so this story is open to all people who enjoy game of thrones or the witcher.**

**Enjoy**

**-ISH**

It was a dream. It simply had to be. Yet it felt real as his body continued to dash through the tall grass. Each running stomp he took caused painful fire to shoot through his rib side, he was bleeding quite a bit he noted idly. The plains were a blur to his eyes as he continued to run for hours in deathly fear. He doesn't recall ever being afraid, so why now? It's probably due to the fact that death's fingers seemed to claw at his neck; something was hunting him and he doesn't know what. Considering he was only in his britches this had to be a sick nightmare.

The blood loss is affecting his head now because the world seems to be whispering something to him, _Geralt_! Multiple times he hears this name but he doesn't dare stop running in the fields or he may die. Death isn't something he wants to encounter right now, especially without a weapon in his hand to fight it off. Eventually his body decided for him as he collapses fatigued and in pain. He lays on the ground as rhythmic thumping gets louder and louder. He sees the hooves of a horse crash into the ground in front of his eyes before the world goes to black.

* * *

His glowing golden cat eyes opened with a start as he awoke for a gasp of air. He tried to lift his body from the cot but a copper hand pushed him back down. He looked to see who laid a hand on him and found a portly woman in tanned robes with a flat nose and black hair kneeling beside him. She spoke to him in a sing-song like language, but it was just noise to him.

He responded with a dry throat, "I cannot unders-" Coughing overtook him and the woman handed him a clay cup of water for him to drink. He spoke once more after he imbibed it, "My gratitude, but I can't understand what you're saying."

"So you speak the common tongue," she replied in a smooth accented voice, "Do you hail from Westeros?"

From where? He doesn't know a placed called as such, so he stated with an arid and deep voice, "No, I am from…"

He cannot remember where he is from. Not only that, no memories are coming to his mind. His brow creased as he tried thinking more about his situation, _where exactly am I and what happened to me? Why can I not remember a single thing?_ He was strangely calm, almost numb as he continued to fail at remembering anything. People would usually become stressed in this situation, but to him it simply felt like another day.

Once he finished thinking he replied smoothly, "I don't remember where I'm from actually. I can't remember anything."

It felt like he was grasping at wisps of smoke. His memories would not hold form no matter how hard he tried.

"Truly? Nothing at all, not even your name?" She was looking at him rather queerly as she studied him and spoke. He did not seem completely human to her, with his pale skin and his silk white shoulder length hair and strange eyes that held a predatory glow to them. She could feel that he is dangerous however, but not unstable. His dangerous demeanor could also be attributed to all the scars that littered his muscled torso and thick arms, like he was mauled by a multitude of beasts and men. There was also a scar over his left eye down to his cheek; without a doubt this man was a warrior of some kind. Luckily they have some guards outside the temple in case of him attacking, but that doesn't seem likely.

Thinking about his name brought up the world whispers again, _Geralt._ That strange dream or memory, whatever it was may have provided his name, "I think my name is Geralt."

She responded with a raised brow towards the man called Geralt, "You think?"

"I can't be completely sure, but it feels right."

"Well can you recall anything?" She leaned forward and checked on the ragged lambskin and ointment that covered his gash from the left side of his chest down to his hip.

"Nothing but that name, how did I get here?" As he said that he looked around Geralt saw that he was in a temple of some sort with small windows above. He noticed other tanned dark haired women and men, either sick in cots around him or praying and chanting closer to the other side of the mud caked building near carvings of Shepards and flocks. However, this was just one of the rooms, _where the healing is done perhaps¸_ he thought. When the others looked towards him they seemed frightened and quickly looked away muttering something in their language. Probably because of him being an outsider they distrust him. Which begs the question, why does this godswife aid him while others start at merely a glance of him? More trusting in nature perhaps?

"You were found on a farm in our town that resides in Lhazar," she told him after she was sure his wound was not infected and the makeshift cloth was situated correctly, "It was Mira Vas Nira who found you, and with the help of her children they brought you here to heal your wound, it was quite deep."

Mira Vas Nira, what a delightful name. He must thank her when he gets the chance. He turned his cat eyes to the strange woman helping him, "And who are you?"

She looked at him with wide eyes as if she just remembered she didn't introduce herself, "Oh, my name is Mirri Maz Duur, a godswife to the Great Shepherd."

"Godswife?" He questioned.

"We are healers, midwives, and priestesses of the Great Shepherd. The peaceful Lamb god who is the shepherd to us all." She made sure to provide extra knowledge to the man who seems to have lost sight of his herd and path with his recent memory loss.

"I see…" He trailed off, those words did not ring any bells in his mind, and so he sat there thinking what to say next. He then began speaking again, "How long have I been here, and where exactly am I?" Hopefully something she says may help him.

"You've been sleeping for one day and two nights, you seemed quite fatigued when brought here, but your wound is healing quite hastily," More hastily than a normal man, but she kept that to herself, best not to make an enemy of this warrior. Her witch's instincts warn her to tread carefully for this man could either be beneficial or a menace to this town, "As to where you are, we are bordering south of the Dothraki Sea, yet just north of Slavers bay, in Essos." She made sure to answer this in detail, so he may hopefully understand something. Judging by the lack of emotion dancing across his face nothing she said helped him.

_Outstanding_, he thought sarcastically, _I am completely lost and nothing she says makes sense, I feel like I do not belong here._ Most of the time in the temple was spent by Geralt asking more questions about his whereabouts to get the lay of the land. He discovered that not many people in this town speak the so called common tongue, only a few. But many people in Essos do speak it. However, the longer the conversation went on less and less did anything make sense. Dothraki? Westeros? Lys? Sothoryos? She even asked if he knew anything about Targaryens, however it just flew over his head. These words were just empty to him, no meaning attached internally to him. Hopefully this is just because of his recent memory troubles, and not something more sinister. Kindly, Mirri made sure to instill some very basic knowledge as to where his location is during their conversation, and for that he is grateful to her.

Once the many details of the world around him were planted in his mind he asked something he should have cleared up earlier, "Did I have anything on my person, other than these britches and boots?"

"Ahh, Yes." She went to the corner of the room near a dresser and grabbed something from the top and returned back to him, "These amulets were found on your person, some people wanted to steal them because they are quite fine in make. But we in the temple are godly people and do not approve of such acts." She did not say what happened to the would-be thieves, _they were probably chased off, _he thought.

He sat up fully on the sheepskin cot, this time noting that only a minor soreness seemed to hit him, and grabbed the amulets to inspect them. One of them was an intricately crafted sliver snarling wolfs head with ruby's for eyes. Immediately, Geralt felt some sort of relief he did not expect when the medallion touched his hand. _Yes_, he thought as he put the medallion around his neck, _this is tied to me in some way and I must always wear it._ However no memories returned because of it. The other amulet was peculiar, three dogs made of a shining metal biting at each other's tails, and where their feet met at the center was an acorn sized gem of brilliant bright amber. It felt otherworldly in his palm, and he felt the wolfs head around his neck shift a bit in its presence, but the feeling was gone so quickly that he thought nothing of it.

Once again nothing returned to his mind in the company of the medallions so he put the dog amulet in his britches for safekeeping. He couldn't help but feel disheartened about his recent memory lost so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. However, he quickly accepted his current situation without judging it. Life is too short to attack oneself over something that cannot be immediately changed. _Maybe some meditation will clear my head and help with my memories_, with this thought he couldn't help but wonder where he learned to meditate properly. The woes of amnesia.

"A question, if you are able to answer?" Stated the godswife as she looked at the pale man, "Have you always been the way you are? I have never seen a man such as you," Her curiosity of all things mystical needed to be sated. After all an unnatural being is before her.

He opened his eyes and turned to the so called godswife, "I don't understand what you mean. Am I so different compared to the lay man?"

All she did was hand him a piece of flat metal to serve as a mirror for him to look upon himself, which he did. When his eyes landed on the mirror he stared back at two golden cat like eyes that reflected magnificently from the makeshift metal. Pale skin littered with scars and white tresses falling down to his shoulders. He felt as if he always appeared this way, even though his memory was jumbled. So there was no surprise, but he knew that normal humans do not have eyes such as him. _Ahh, so that is why they look away in fear from me,_ he noted, but he is not ashamed of himself nor will he ever be. This is who he is…

_Witcher!_

The thought shot passed his mind like a crossbow bolt. He does not know the depths of its meaning, but he is sure that it describes his person. In time hopefully more will come.

"All that I can tell you is that I believe I was always like this, and as for how, that is a mystery even to me," He will keep the witcher thought to himself, no need to be burned at the stake here. If that is what they do.

"A shame," She stated, "I never met a person such as you and my curiosity needed to be satisfied, but it seems that will not happen for now."

"Now I have a question for you?"

She nodded her head to show that he has her ear.

"How come you don't fret in fear when you look at me? The others can barely stand to look at my eyes," This godswife shows no fear in the face of an unknown. Not many people are capable of such a feat, so it has caught the so called witcher's attention.

"I have a greater tolerance for the mystical than the mundane man," She had a strange twinkle in her brown wide eyes as she spoke, "After all I have traveled to Asshai-by-the-Shadow and practiced magical shadow binding and more."

Magic, that Geralt does believe. Now he does not know what this woman is capable of, for she is no simple healer. However, this does not invite prejudice into his view of her, if anything it made him respectfully wary of her. Anyone who has the patience to learn magic is a deadly adversary to deal with.

"Hmm, I guess I have to keep an eye on you witch," He stated jokingly with his dry voice, "I don't wish to be an ingredient for your spells."

"Then tread carefully, oh white haired warrior," She riposted with a smile. If that was a joking smile or a deadly one, Geralt couldn't tell. He is hoping it's the previous one, after all he doesn't wish to bifurcate his healer.

The witcher prepared another question hoping to finally get on his feet, "Is it alright for me to leave? I'm only slightly sore and I don't wish to impose any longer." He despises being stuck in one spot for too long, and wishes to feel the wind on his cheeks.

"You do not impose," she stated with a slight smile the belied her possible abilities, "We are healers so we perform our duties the great Shepard instilled on us, and I do not stop you if you wish to go."

He could not help but return the slight smile with one of his own, "Thank you, if there is anything I can do to return the favor-"

"No need, like I said we are healers doing our duty to help the lost sheep," She interrupted, once more affirming her faith. What a dutiful woman, she must have healed a great many people in her time. Apparently knowing magic does not make you a dark entity, how you use it is a different story although.

Geralt stood up from the cot, and with his slightly taller than average build, gave off an imposing shadow. He asked the portly woman another question, "Do you know where I can find this Mira woman? I wish to thank her, and see if she knows anything to help my memory."

"She can be found in the far east side of town, when you leave the temple make a left and follow the main road all the way to the end, she owns the farm called _White Sheep Meadows_ you can find the sign easily. I always thought it was amusing that she decided to name her farm, but Mira always was an odd one. Luckily for you she can speak the common tongue, I believe she is from Westeros actually," She stated this as she turned back to the dresser to grab something, "And take this tunic with you, we do not need the _ewe_, the female sheep, swooning over your roguish build." She stated this with a chuckle as she handed him a white tunic which reached passed his hips.

He grinned and said nothing as he placed the tunic over his body and looked at how it rested with his long brown leather britches and boots. After he was situated and ready to leave he turned to the godswife once more, "I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me. Don't hesitate to ask if you need my help, I'll make sure to pay this debt." This witcher is too professional to allow such help without returning the debt in some way.

She simply shook her head with a smile, "Must I state it once more? We are a peaceful people who believe all men are of one flock, to help a stranger is to help ourselves. So there is no debt to be paid."

"A nice saying that may be, but the world is not always a great place for benevolent sheep," Geralt does not need his memories to know the darkness of man, even though he believes his recollections back up his claims. As he begins to leave the temple he states with sincerity, "Be careful and take care of yourselves."

"As you, Geralt," She said with a wave, watching the strange fellow she nursed back to health leave her temple. As he left Mirri could not help but think, _times are surely going to change now._

* * *

Once Geralt stepped outside of the temple, he felt the hot rays strike upon his face, causing him to close his eyes slightly so they may adjust to the influx of light. After they adjusted he gazed upon the town of sheep herders and farmers. This town owned quite a big and good plot of land for the farmer's affairs, and they even have some guards posted around in leather armor carrying curved sabers. Single story buildings constructed from mud and stone alike stretched on for miles, at least five thousand people lived in this area. A marketplace was situated on the road to his right, people bartering for sheepskin suits, meats, milks, cheeses, and an assortment of other offerings. He could actually smell the cooked salted meats and how they blend with the fresh grass to form an unusually delightful scent. As of now though they are just distractions to Geralt, for he needs to speak to this sheep farmer to offer his thanks and hopefully learn something to jog his memory about what happen.

So Geralt began his trek making a left and going towards his destination, the _White Sheep Meadows_, and he noticed one thing. His complexion and overall appearances makes him stand out quite a bit in the sea of dark haired and copper skin toned individuals. They would look at him in wonder, curiosity, and for quite a few cases disgust. However, Geralt discovered he has an uncanny ability to simply ignore such bigotry and trifle. It seems this may have happened to him quite a lot so he developed a thick skin for these cases. So without even giving these people a second glance his journey continued onward.

Eventually, his trek to the farm began to bear fruit for he found a sign in front of a rather large plot of land. This sign held a crudely painted white sheep hopping over a fence with the name _White Sheep Meadows_, in the common tongue overhead. There was more writing underneath that name, but it was illegible to him. Must be the other language these people speak, Lhazarene as the godswife called it. He took a moment to look at the farm and found a modestly sized brick and wood hut that could fit a nice family of five, it even has outdoor seating in the front. The land behind the hut was impressive with wooden fences chest high and dozens of sheep and lambs running around the tall grass. There was even a wooden barn the size of the house inside of the fence where the animals run.

He began to approach the front of house before someone called out in a shrill childlike voice. He turned to his right to find a girl that seemed no older than six years of age. She had short messy brown hair, a copper complexion like the rest, but her eyes were a light blue instead of the brown he found in this town. She wore some sort of brown working gown as she crossed her arms and stood before him, speaking in that singing Lhazarene language without fear. Geralt shook his head and responded, "I can't understand you little one."

She looked at him queerly then realized something, and spoke softly to herself before running inside of the brick hut. Geralt simply stood there wondering if he should follow after her, but before he could the door to the hut opened again and someone came out. This time it was a full grown shapely woman in a dark blue robe like gown with an apron covering the front. The hunter for hire saw immediately that she had a comely face with high cheek bones and almond shaped ocean blue eyes. Her black hair was pulled upwards into a bun, with a few sweat stained strands settling over her tanned forehead. Geralt couldn't help but hope it was this woman who found him half dead.

When the woman saw the man standing in her front yard her face showed surprise. She started speaking in that enchanting language that sounded magnificent with her rich and vibrant vocal cords. Sadly, the witcher could not speak in that tongue so he responded for possibly the third time today, "I don't speak Lhazarene. Are you Mira?"

Mira cocked her slightly head to the side, and smiled softly and responded in the common tongue with that velvet voice, "Yes I am, and you were the half dead man that was bleeding on my farm. You're lucky the sheep didn't eat you and shit you right out."

…

Ohh, Geralt really liked this woman now. What a deceptively soft smile for a woman filled with bite. He couldn't help but let out a quick chuckle, "Apparently I am, I came here to thank you for bringing me to the healer. If it wasn't for you I might have died as sheep food, a sad way to go."

She let another dazzlingly smile grace her lips, "Your welcome stranger."

"My name is Geralt, wouldn't want to be a stranger to one as comely as you," he replied with a slight smile.

"You're going to have to try harder to get on your savior's good side, simple complements are scarcely enough," she turned her head condescendingly as she stated this. A woman with looks, a sharp tongue, and she's not even reacting to his appearance. The unknown white wolf loves the company of such a lady, hell he loves the company of women in general.

"Well do not worry, there will be no lack of trying," He stated, now however he must ask some serious question, "If you have the time I need to speak with you about some things?"

Mira raised an eyebrow then nodded her head, "Come inside, my children are out back tending to the sheep and horses while I finish making supper." She turned away then walked back to the hut and opened the door, while waiting for Geralt to step through.

The inside of the hut gave the impression of a well lived in home. Some sheep skin rugs lined up across the floor, and comfortable chairs crafted from fine wood and more sheep wool. The kitchen and dining hall contained a brick and stone stove which had a stew cooking over the fire under it. A wooden table with sheep skin cushioned chairs around it was where Mira sat down and motioned for Geralt to do the same, which he obliged.

Once they sat Mira spoke up, "What is it you wish to know?"

"I was hoping you could clear some things up for me, you see when I woke in the temple I couldn't remember anything but my name," He started off with that and stared at her with his piercing eyes hoping she gets the gravity of the situation.

"Truly? What a dreadful experience," She responded, "You sure you didn't just drink too much ale and get into a bar fight?" Apparently she couldn't resist one crack.

"If only, but no," he shook his head at that, "What I wanted to ask you was if you noticed anything unusual when you found me? Was I saying anything or was there someone else around, whatever comes to your mind would be helpful."

Mira looked to the side before she looked back at him with narrowed eyes, it seems she was contemplating something, "Yes, there was a queer event that took place before I found you…"

"Queer how?" Geralt leaned forward as she spoke.

"I heard screaming that awoke me from my slumber, however this screaming was not…common," She trailed off on that word, "It sounded like the screaming of a thousand shrill wraiths passing above my land." She stared at him directly as she stated this, "It was that which made me and my son, Rakos, gather the horses and search the farm… that was how we found you and you alone."

Geralt didn't know how to reply to that, but one word caught his attention. _Wraiths, why does that word set me ill at ease, _he couldn't help but wonder what it all meant.

"Other than that you were just a dying white haired man on my field, so me and Rakos took you to the temple on horse to heal you up and left you there," She stood up after that to check on the stew on the stove. Once she was sure it was ready she took the pot off the fire with a rag in each hand.

After she finished with the stew she turned back to the white haired man, "Now I have a question for you?"

He looked at her inquisitively.

"Are you hungry?"

His growling stomach answered for him.

* * *

He was surprised to get the invite to dinner, however he will not complain. After all he hasn't eaten something in quite some time. So now here he is sitting at the table with one beautiful woman, the little girl he met earlier, and two boys. One boy seemed to be around one and three years of age and the other around one and one. The older boy had copper skin with short cropped dark hair and dim freckles across his nose and brown eyes, Mira said this boy was Rakos and he takes his looks after his father. The other boy had longer dark hair, with blue almond shaped eyes like the little girl, his name is Eymir. Finally the little girl is called Nyla, and each child currently is giving him strange frightened looks. Apparently, just because their mother was more accepting of him, doesn't mean the children would be.

Dinner was a quiet affair until the boy, Eymir, spoke up, "Your eyes weird…"

It seems he knows some broken common tongue, his mother must be teaching them. And speaking of the mother for some reason she seems oddly proud of her son as she corrects his broken Westerosi, "Its 'your eyes ARE weird', don't forget that word it's important."

"Yes mama."

Huh, Geralt just stared blankly at the scene before him, not knowing how to respond. He doesn't really do well with kids, so he just says what's been on his mind since meeting this woman, "You have been taking my appearance rather well compared to most people in this town, why's that?" He was honestly curious, even the godswife mentioned something about his appearance but this woman acted like it doesn't even matter.

Mira's blue eyes looked up in contemplation before answering, "My husband always said that looks rarely matter; I think it was probably because his nose got beaten so many times that looks were a sore spot for him. But he was right, plus your eyes remind me of a story my grandmother use to tell me when I lived in Westeros."

He raised a brow as he continued to eat the lovely lamb stew with vegetables, "A story?"

"Mhmm, I used to live in the north of Westeros close to Deepwood Mottes, and in the north they always talked about the old gods and mystical creatures. Especially the children of the forest," she smirked when she brought up that title, "The children were a mysterious childlike race of people who lived in the north thousands of years ago, and they knew all sorts of magic. One of their features was that they have big cat like glowing eyes, and really small child bodies. My gran never shut up about them, saying they would come back one day, and look who is front of me. A real life grown up child!" She couldn't help but say that with a delightful smile, "Looks like old nan was right."

"Wow!" Nyla was astonished, apparently even she knew some Westerosi. All the children were looking at the witcher rather excitedly now, "You really child?" The little girl asked innocently.

"No," Geralt crushed that innocence ruthlessly as they all ate, "Are you a child?" He could hear Mira snickering slightly.

"No, I adult!" She defended herself, after all she worked hard on the farm! It looks like she did not understand the question completely however. The consequences of miscommunication during conversation.

He turned back to Mira to continue the conversation, "Why did you leave Westeros?"

Her eyes gained a sad quality as she answered him, "I met my husband," This delicate smile graced her face as she began to speak, "I never did like the north, always so cold and dreary. I wanted to see what the whole world had to offer, but I was just some peasant girl not a highborn. My chances of leaving that place were almost none. Eventually a traveler named Duny vas Nira from across the narrow sea came to my little town and gave me the chance I always wanted. We fell in love traveled around Essos together and settled down in one of the safest towns. I guess you could say it is your typical story, but I will always be grateful to my lost little Shepard."

Geralt was never known for tact so he just asked, "What happened to him?"

"He was murdered two years ago," Now her eyes got a darker, harder quality as she stared at her meal. The children fell silent and also just looked at their meals, "Murdered by Dothraki scum while he went out of the city with friends to do some trading. He told me he would come back in a fortnight, one fortnight became two and no word still. Eventually, one of his friends returned home beaten and bloody and told me what happened. They were taken as slaves by Khal Ogo to be sold at Slavers bay, but my husband helped his friends escape at the cost of his life. He may be a hero to some…But I just miss him…"

The witcher closed his eyes softly and replied, "My condolences," There was nothing more he could offer her right now.

"It's alright, sometimes I need to speak of him. It helps to let it out, and it's been quite some time," She looked at him with a simple smile, all he could do was look in her eyes and nod in return, "Let's speak of something more cheerful…"

Eventually dinner returned to its rambunctious state until the end, to Geralt it was an enjoyable experience. Just being around people every now and then can improve his mood, plus he needs to take his mind from his recent memory loss. But all things must come to an end as night began to fall, and farmers always rise with sun so bed was early for the children. Once the mother put the youngest to sleep the rest followed; she returned to the dining room to find it empty of her guest. She went outside and found him sitting on the long bench out front looking towards the night moonlit sky. She sat down next to him and they simply enjoyed the silence the night provided them. The crickets sang their song as the flashing light bugs danced to the tune provided, it was a beautiful night. Surely tomorrow will bring a great day.

"What will you do now," Mira asked as she turned to look at the rugged white haired man that entered her life by bleeding on her farm. It seems he pulled his hair back and tied it to a low ponytail so it does not interfere with his face. It did let her look clearly at those intense gold eyes that pierced into the night so easily.

"I don't know," He responded still looking towards the moon. He has many options in front of him yet so little at the same time. He wants to regain his lost memories, but the road to that goal is covered in fog. He has no idea how to start. It feels like he was just dumped into this world with no direction on how to recover his memory. Just the wait and see approach seems to be the most viable option, traveling might help so seeing Essos is something he will be doing. He told Mira of his plans to travel and hopefully find something that regains his memory.

"So you are going to be leaving? When," She sounded disheartened as he stated this. She did not want to see this mysterious man leave just yet.

"In time, first I must completely heal which will probably be a few more days," He honestly feels great, but he should not strain his wound so much.

"If you want you can stay in the barn, there is room for you to sleep there," She smirked impishly at her mocking statement.

He stared into her comely eyes and responded, "I can only stay in the barn? I would prefer to sleep in your bed?" He was confident as he brought up his suggestion, as usual.

"Ha! Rather presumptuous of you," she laughed and shook her head, "It will take more effort from you before that can happen."

_She did not say no_, he thought idly. Some more effort on his part does not ruffle him at all, he was a hard worker after all.

"Now let's get you set up in the spare room," Inadvertently admitting she was joking about the barn, "Tomorrow you will begin to pay your debt to me," This statement had a smile to it. Geralt wondered what she will have him do, but would not mind waiting till then. He did owe this women much, and right now he has nowhere else to go. Mira knew this and happily took advantage of that.

Eventually, she set him up in the spare room within the hut. He expressed his gratitude and said his goodnight to the lovely mother as she went to sleep in her room. Geralt could not help but stay awake and gaze at the ceiling. It seems like things are moving in a good direction, and in the morning a new dawn will come.

* * *

Geralt awoke early in the morn to the baying of sheep. To others such noise would be a far off whisper, incomprehensible to their ears. But to him it was as if the sheep were in the room with him. The white haired man couldn't help but notice this, even though it was not an inconvenience to him. His senses were well trained, even if he does not remember such training; he has masterful control over each of them. Slight noises, small muscle twitches, rapid eye movements, indistinguishable scents, all of these signals were an open book to him. What training must he have done to achieve such skill?

Pondering on them did not assist him in anyway, his memories will come back on their own in time. So he stood up from his bed, clothed in his britches but shirtless with the sheepskin still covering his torso wound, and turned his sights out the window. He was gifted with a beautiful view of the farm as the morning sun began to rise over the horizon. _This would be a great time to meditate_, he thought, morn meditations were always peaceful. So he situated himself on his knees in front of the window, set his hands on his thighs, and slowly shut his eyes. He was right, today brought a beautiful day.

His breathing became rhythmic, but not loud. Having loud breaths during meditation breaks concentration. He made sure to bring his breath into the lowest section of his stomach, all the way to the groin before he slowly released it from his nose. During this moment all of his senses increased exponentially, as he brought the world into himself. Nothing escaped his attention during these hours, because now his attention was on the world. And to have your attention on the world, meant to have attention on yourself. Thoughts appeared in his mind but they floated away like clouds, for they are not associated to him. He is no longer his mind, his mind is a tool to be sharpened and used; he is the world.

He could hear steps approach the door behind him, before it slowly opened after his hour if worldly time. These steps were too heavy to belong to children, so it is Mira he surmised. Instead of speaking up however she stood at the doorway and observed him. How polite, but he was finishing his meditation so he spoke up with his even voice, "Good morn, Mira." From her sharp quiet intake of breath he could tell she was surprised, all little actions never escape his senses.

"Good morn, Geralt," She replied, "I did not wish to disturb your trance." She seemed worried she might have offended him in some way.

"You didn't," he assured her as he stood up with open eyes looking towards the morning sun just now over the horizon, before turning to the mother. Mira once again noticed all the scars around his bandage that littered his perfectly honed body. They ranged from claw marks, bites at his shoulder, punctures wounds near his abdomen, and sword slashes. Either he has been lucky many times, or has fought too many times to count. Yet, she thought, _what manner of monster can inflict such wounds on a man?_

Nevertheless, she will not swoon like a young maiden at his impressive build. She has too much dignity for that, "Place your tunic on exhibitionist, I do need such harlots in my presence." She turned a condescending cheek at him to show her will is strong.

He smirked lightly as he placed his tunic on, she couldn't stop the slight twinge of disappointment that entered her mind at seeing her view gone. Though she will die before admitting that.

"Now then," She turned back to him and stared at his piercing gold Forest Children eyes, and now impassive face, "It is time that you make up your debt." After all, there is no such thing as free supper and Geralt knew that.

* * *

Mira's idea of making up his debt involved working on her farm with her family. It was something he honestly did not mind, such hands on work he was rather good at. Mira needed someone strong enough to plow the ground, and to him it was child's play.

Using the steel hand plow, shaped as a wheelbarrow, to rip up the dirt for planting vegetables gave Geralt the opportunity to test his strength, and it was a moment he happily took. The one foot of dirt gave way easily when he tried only a tad and he was able to make multiple trenches over a century of feet in a matter of minutes. Such rushed work would tire many men, but he didn't even sweat. This amount of strength and endurance was not normal for humans, but he wielded it easily. No wasted breath, and he knew he was much stronger and capable of so much more. Someone trained him well.

"Wow…" Rakos said with wide eyes at the amount of work Geralt just saved him, "You're really strong." The boy's head reached up to the witcher's shoulder, rather tall for his age.

"Guess I am," Geralt said no more. He was inexpressive like that, one had to coax a response from him, and he rarely started a conversation. Only when he needed to.

"Where did you get so strong?" The boy needed to know, such strength will be useful to him. And not just for the farm, he has other plans for it.

"Don't remember," Was all he replied to the boy of one and three.

"You don't remember? How's that," Rakos was perplexed.

"Woke up yesterday with no memory, now I'm here," The white wolf explained no more.

"Huh, that must blow a horse's arse." His common tongue was much better than his sibling's, he told him earlier he had more time to learn it.

"Yup." Rakos noticed Geralt's voice barely changed from that dry, deep, pitch. He seemed as strong as steel to the child farmer.

They were both quiet people of little words, so nothing else needed to be said between them. They valued the silence and continued to plow until they did not need any more trenches.

Geralt stopped and looked at the other side of the farm where the animals resided and watched as Mira with the other two children fed and groomed sheep's, horses, cows, and pigs alike. He and Rakos were ordered to take care of the garden and prepare the vegetables for the next harvest, so the plowing of the ground was only the beginning. As he was staring, Mira looked up over at him, smiled and gave a wave, Geralt returned the expression with wave of his own.

"Come on," The witcher stated to Rakos when he put his hand down, "We have more work to do."

"Right," Was the response he heard.

* * *

Once the garden was planted and ready, he and Rakos set about to grab water from the nearby river to feed the thirsty seeds. They took the main road all the way down and Rakos couldn't help but notice that everyone in town was staring strangely at Geralt, some even spit at the ground in disgust. Sure he has some queer eyes, but other than that he looked normal to Rakos. _He doesn't deserve such stares, he is not even bothering them_, Rakos glared back at the people menacingly. He liked Geralt, he was quiet and strong and doesn't complain. Such men deserve complements not disdain.

"Don't do that," Geralt didn't even look towards Rakos as he spoke.

He looked up to the white haired man in surprise, "Why not, they are being craven with their childish glares."

"Doesn't matter," He responded without emotion, "Such limp lilies are not worth your time."

"But they will think you a coward!" Rakos would not wish to be viewed as such.

"Let them," He said airily, "Because when the time for a real bloody fight comes, they will underestimate you. Makes for ending them an easy process."

"But you're so strong, wouldn't you want to show that?" If Rakos had strength such as Geralt's it would be known all across the lands.

"Being strong is only the beginning," Geralt decided to impart some wisdom on the boy, "Knowing when and how to wield that strength will always be more important. Only fools get goaded into losing control of themselves. A clear mind will always trump one blinded with fury."

Rakos didn't say anything else. He was too entranced because he just remembered his father said something similar to him before. Geralt didn't know it, but Rakos's respect for the witcher grew that day.

* * *

Geralt and the boy made it back to the farm quickly without and interruptions. They watered the seeds and were done with the garden for the day. Now they must simply wait for the next harvest.

He and Rakos were out back near the Garden when Mira approached them, "How was work for the day?"

"It went great mother, me and Geralt were able to get everything done in less than half the time," The smile Rakos gave her made the mother's heart fill with joy. Mira could tell Rakos was impressed with Geralt. He always looked up to the strong, and the white haired man has that in spades.

"That's good," She was glad everything went well, now she could go to the market and sell her previous harvest from the other gardens. She also has some animal skins they need to get rid of.

"Now Rakos, you and your siblings will watch over the house," She turned to Geralt, "You will come with me to the market, I have much things to sell." She commanded him, after all he owes her.

"Sure," He said nothing more as she handed him two large baskets of goods. She carried a third smaller one and they went on their way as she waved goodbye to her children.

On their way up to the market Mira noticed the looks they were getting but she thought nothing of it. It takes much more than some dirty looks to ruffle her feathers. "Rakos really likes you," she turned to Geralt with a smile.

"Hmm, I couldn't tell," he responded while looking at her from the corner of his eye.

"I'm certain of it, I'm his mother after all," A mother will always know their child.

"He's a good kid," Geralt could see that Rakos was hard working and obedient. He was confident the boy will grow up to be a fine man someday.

"I know he is, I raised him after all. Only greatness comes from me," She had to think of herself as great because if she didn't no one else will. Besides her children of course.

The white wolf could respect that confidence, but he also needs to knock her down a peg, "If you breathe too much hot air you may burn down your farm." Even as he said that his voice barely changed.

She mockingly hit him on the arm, "You pigs arse; you are supposed to agree with me."

He didn't respond verbally, only gave her a slight smile that made Mira's cheeks flush. She turned with a huff.

Eventually they made it to the marketplace and set up a table on the road with the other merchants. A few of her friends and usual customers came up to her to barter. She was able to make some decent coin for the animal skins and vegetables. Many of the townsmen stayed away from her because of the golden eyed intimidating figure staying by her side, but she didn't mind. Geralt would not be here long and she enjoys his quiet taciturn company. Then she just had to see the bane of her existence.

"Shepard's ugly sheep," She cursed. Why did Vorus Nah Gai have to come to the marketplace? Would he not take no for an answer.

"What's the matter?" Geralt could see the distress on her face.

"That man over there with the yellow doublet and brown trousers," She pointed to said man and Geralt noticed he had copper skin and brown eyes like the rest, but also a high ponytail with a Goatee, "he keeps on asking my hand in marriage ever since my husband passed and will not take no for an answer. Thinks just because his father owns the most sheep here his shite doesn't stink."

Geralt didn't like the look in Vorus's eye when he approached. He was surrounded by a group of three thuggish male farmers. Must be his workers on the farm.

"Well if it isn't the lovely Mira, you look as beautiful as ever," The smile this man gives would make some people swoon while others skin crawled, and surprisingly enough he spoke in common tongue. The witcher saw that he has the eyes of a man who gets all he wants, a spoiled man.

"And your face repulses me still, I said no three times and now will be the fourth," Mira didn't care for any pleasantries with this man. He was a vile whoremonger willing to fuck anything with a dress.

"That is why I must have you," Vorus's smile became predatory, "I rarely get rejected and especially by one as lovely as you."

"That's because I am not a common whore you can pay to fuck," She took a harsh stance, "I am a woman who makes her own choices, and I want nothing to do with you."

"Mira this is getting childish," He shook his head, "You can't keep saying no forever, after all I can buy out your farm if I wish. I am the richest farmer here."

"Your father can buy my farm, and if I recall he said he will not do such a thing," Mira smirked when she saw anger pass by his eyes, "After all your father is a man of hard labor, while you just ride on his coat tails." It was easy to piss off Vorus, just mention his father and he always exploded.

Geralt didn't say much, it seems Mira could take care of this herself. Another feature that made her stunning in his eyes, she was independent.

Apparently just standing next to Mira was enough to incite the rage of this man. It seems instead of pushing his anger on Mira, both would be his victim, "A woman who makes her own choice?! What choice is that, consorting with demons?!" Vorus slammed his hands on Mira table and knocked down all her merchandise. The marketplace became quite after that.

"The whole town knows of the demon you brought to the temple, with his monster glowing eyes. Now you bring him to the marketplace! You should keep this vile being in a cage!" Vorus voiced raised high in anger. The white wolf does not respect such violence towards his friends.

"Pick everything up and apologize," Geralt's command was simple and direct. No quarter would be taken.

Vorus looked shocked, "Apologize?! To some demon's whore. I'd rather watch her choke on my cock!" He had this vile smile that spoke of assault.

Geralt was not swayed one inch, "You'll be choking on my fist if you don't follow my command."

"Are you threatening me?" He seemed excited at the prospect, "We are four and you are one, your skull will be broken in half." Geralt watched as the three thugs pulled out some small hand held clubs. No matter, they will fall.

"Geralt don't-" Mira was worried, she did not want to see her new friend hurt for her sake.

The monster slayer turned and gave her hand a slight squeeze, "Don't worry, this will be over soon."

Vorus saw the interaction and sneered, "Truly a demons whore."

Geralt didn't respond, the man will be bleeding soon. So he slowly walked towards Vorus and his three goons. They stood in front of one another waiting.

One of the goons were the first to strike with their clubs, aiming for Geralt's head. To the layman it seemed as quick as a viper, to Gwynbleidd the man moved like syrup. He dodged the strike with only millimeters of space between him and the club, he could feel wind pass by his face. That arm was grabbed and the club was taken from him while the man experienced a knife punch to the throat. He choked on air as the thug felt his feet leave the ground and his body plowed into his fellow goon charging the demon. They both hit the ground hard and stomps to their head left them unconscious.

The last thug tried to catch Geralt unawares at his back, but the white wolf was always aware. He used the stolen club and crashed it into the head of the man behind him with a back spin. The club exploded into splinters while the man fell unconscious to the ground. This happened in the span of seconds.

And then there was one. Vorus and all in the marketplace could only stare in shock as Geralt slowly approached him. So Vorus did something foolish and pulled out a knife, the wolf only raised an eyebrow.

"You should put that away, you could get hurt," Geralt was giving him a chance.

"Stay back demon! I am warning you," This warning did not slow his approach. So Vorus struck, stabbing for the witchers head but only met empty air. A hand enveloped his face, a shoulder hit under his armpit, and a single foot stood behind his. Vorus was pushed hard into the ground and the back of his head met road, if the witcher wanted to brains would be slathering the streets right now. But he is not here to kill, only scare. Vorus dropped the knife the moment he hit the floor, and Geralt collected it.

It was now pointed at his enemy's throat now. It took a few moments but Vorus eventually could see and hear straight, now fear danced in his eyes.

"I'm only going to say this once so listen closely," That got his attention quick and Vorus was forced to stare into the eyes of a true Demon, "You'll never approach Mira again, and you'll not even look at her again. If you do I'll know, and it will not end well for you." He left that open to interpretation, the mind generates its own fears after all.

"What you're going to do now is get up, clean up Mira's stall, and apologize. After that if you don't follow my orders, well…" He just shrugged, "Now do what I said." What really terrified this spoiled son was the lack of emotion in the man's voice. Vorus thought he experienced his death three times over during his speech.

Vorus scrambled to his feet picked up all the vegetables and animal skins, and placed them back on the table. He then turned to Mira, kneeled and screamed his apologies. The lovely mother only nodded in shock and watched as he ran back home, leaving his goons behind.

Mira turned to the unknown monster hunter and smiled with a giggle.

* * *

(Unknown Area)

"What do you mean that you LOST HIM!?" A thunderous voice bellowed with uncontrollable rage at what he is hearing.

"It is as I have stated, we lost him and he took the amulet with him," This voice was calm and collected, the voice of a battle worn general who has faced countless adversaries.

"He took the AMULET AS WELL!?" The King Beyond All Kings could not believe what he is hearing, "Well what are you standing here for! Go find him and get it BACK!"

"It is not that simple, he fell within the passing of infinite spheres, it will take time to locate him, even if he has the amulet," It was always like pulling teeth with this one.

"I do NOT CARE how long it will take! With that amulet in his hands who knows what kind of damage he can do! FIND HIM!" He does not wish to hear any more of this headache inducing conversation, "You are the LEADER of our most prestigious unit! Get your act together! You're dismissed!"

"Yes my liege," Soon…

* * *

**AN: So tell me what you think! Any constructive criticism is appreciated.**

**Till next time.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Alright guys here is the next chapter of my story.**

**WARNING: If you have read the original chapter 1, go an re-read the update that came out of the 20th. Alot of new stuff happened, and this chapter will confuse you if you missed it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or the Witcher franchise. They are owned by George R. R. Martin and Andrzej Sapkowski.**

**Enjoy:**

Geralt and Mira eventually were able to sell up many of the wares they brought with them at the marketplace. After that debacle with Vorus, Mira just wanted to go home and see her children. Thankfully Geralt was there to shove his vile words back down his throat. Mira will always remember and hold dear that scared begging face of the little slime, what a trying and exciting event.

So now they finished packing the leftover goods, and decided it was time to head home. It was getting late now since daylight was going scarce, and she needed to make supper for her children and Geralt, her working slave/bodyguard. That thought made her smile, what a professional and honorable man she was able to find bleeding on her farm. She couldn't help but think that he would make a great Westerosi knight.

As they both continued to walk down the main road they eventually ran into a familiar flat face. Mira noticed that it was Mirri Maz Duur, the godswife that resides at the temple. Mirri was in front of the bakers purchasing bread when she turned and saw both Geralt and Mira approaching from down the road. The _maegi_ smiled when she recognized them and spoke, "Hello Mira and Geralt, I see you have healed up nicely since we last met." That last statement was towards the witcher.

He nodded towards the godswife, "Thanks to you, how are you?"

"I am well, I owe it all to the Great Shepard," She then turned to the farmer, "And you Mira? How is young Eymir fairing since his bout with deadeye fever?"

Mira nodded happily, "He is quite well, and I could never thank you enough for helping him through such an ordeal." Deadeye fever was a deadly illness in these parts of Essos. It would cause blackness to creep through the entirety of the victims eyes until death came to take them through a painful fever. "It was only thanks to your songs and spells that my son lived, I will be forever grateful."

The maegi simply shook her head, "All thanks goes to the Great Shepard; I learned all my songs because of him." Then Mirri turned to Geralt with a smirk, "I heard an interesting tale today. A white haired beast gave a thrashing to ten grown men and left them for dead in the streets. Care to explain?" The _maegi_ seemed more amused than anything else, rumors always grew into tales of heroic proportions.

Geralt snorted through his nose and began the long winded tale of his run in with Vorus, by the time he was done he saw a frown on the face of the priestess. "What a dreadful boy, hopefully he learned a valuable lesson from his encounter with the great white beast." She said the last part with a smile. She then turned to Mira, "Thank the Lamb God, that you have left that ordeal unscathed."

Mira gave a beatific smile, "Thank Geralt as well, it seems he cannot resist being a shining white knight." Her smile turned deadly, "I think he does it just so he can get into the gowns of women." Both women shared a laugh while Geralt just blinked slightly.

He had to respond to that or he would lose face, "Is it working?" He was staring directly at Mira with his aloof look. She only laughed harder with the priestess.

"Time will tell, oh great warrior," This was Mira's only response.

Once Mirri's laughter died down she began to take her leave, "I must head back to the temple now, more lost sheep require my assistance," She waved as she left, "May the Great Shepard herd you in the right direction." Then she was off.

Geralt and Mira watched her leave around a corner, then they both continued their trek back home. Once they were in front of the stone house, the door burst opened and Nyla came running out to hug her mother around the waist. Mira returned it whole heartedly as she watched her other two sons come out from the home. They spoke in Lhazareen, and to Geralt it seemed she was just asking how their day went.

Then the mother turned her head back to Geralt, "Let us eat supper."

* * *

"Teach me how to fight."

"No," The witcher's answer was quick and dry. He did not need to put much thought in it.

It was Rakos who made that request while the family broke bread. He was staring at Geralt with determined brown eyes when he spoke, and Mira looked surprised at her child's sudden demand. Then the mother's eyes softened at tad after she looked towards the boy, as if she knew something.

"Why not!? Everyone's heard how you took care of that pompous fool Vorus, you could teach me to be a real killer." It seems Rakos was quite resolute to learn after all.

"Why should I teach you?" Geralt needed more on the boy's motivation before he made such a decision. Teaching someone how to murder was not small task, and from the look in Rakos's eye he was not looking for just fighting.

"Because I want to be strong like you!" The cropped haired boy seemed to go for an answer that contained some small truth in it.

"That's all? Then no, try another answer," Geralt continued to chew into the lamb steak that Mira roasted with garlic sauce. With the large side of grilled salted asparagus, it made for an outstanding dish.

This time Rakos turned his head to his side, thinking for a bit before he turned back to Geralt, "I want to protect my family, and if I'm weak I can't do that." His new answer was quite honorable and Geralt could feel that the boy honestly meant it. But he was still not admitting the whole truth.

When Geralt turned towards Mira, he could see the gloomy smile directed towards the witcher. He took a heartbeat to study the lovely mother once more, and she still seemed to be a work of art. With her full pink lips and button nose, her face had a perfect golden ratio to it. Her ocean blue eyes complemented her tanned skin nicely, and the way she pulled her black hair into a messy bun added a sensual quality to her. The wolf still counted his lucky stars that she was the one who found him, and that's not just based on her beauty. She was a good, wholesome, independent woman as well. A single mother requires steel in ones spine, and her skeleton was encased in it. An iron forged woman from the cold depths in the North of Westeros. Being born a peasant gave her a value for hard work and sweat, so she was not easily swayed by satin robes and glittering rocks.

It seems that she too knew what ran through the heart of her eldest, but she left the decision wholly up to Geralt.

"No," Was the response yet again. He would not train someone who still hid what lay in their heart, "Come back with the proper answer, and I may consider it."

The boy shot Geralt a disgruntled look, before he quickly finished his meal and went into the room he shared with his siblings. It seems Geralt displeased the boy enough to slam his door, the witcher did not react to the action. Mira only shook her head.

Once Eymir and Nyla finished their meals, they said their thanks and joined their brother in the bedroom.

"I am sorry for his reaction," Mira appeared genuinely sad as she collected the plates from the meal and placed them in the bucket for washing. Geralt still sat at the table and watched the mother go about placing all the dirty plates to the side. She will wash them later, and instead retuned to sit at the table.

"It's no issue," It did not bother the witcher at all, the boy needed an outlet for all that rage he is bottling up. Staying quiet all this time is not healthy for his heart.

"It seems you know what ails him," Mira spoke as Blue and Gold eyes met.

"I can hazard a guess."

She offered him a slight smile, it was quite frail to the witcher, "He was always close with his father." She began a tale one more, "When Rakos was first born Duny would hold him up to the sky and scream with a proud smile, 'This kid will be the best in all the lands' and from then on Rakos stuck to him like mud. They were thick as thieves. While Eymir and Nyla always stood close with me, Rakos was like his father in every way. They went on trades together when Rakos came of age at a decade, and they would always return with tales of joy."

The ocean of her eyes became murky as the tale went on, "Then came that faithful day. Rakos wished to leave with Duny, but he was denied that time. Told him only men could come on this trip, and when he returned they would go on even greater travels. But Duny never returned, and Rakos would wait by the door in hope and anticipation, saying his father would never abandon them."

Mira took a breath before continuing, "He ran out the door in such joy when Duny's friend returned, thinking he would finally see his father but only dark words awaited us. I saw a black light enter my eldest son's eye that day, he tried so hard not to cry. Yet I could hear him at night, such devastated wailing. Then he just got very quiet, but I could see the rage bottle up inside him. Vengeance flows through his blood now."

She ended her tale with those words, and Geralt closed his eyes in contemplation. He would have to make a decision.

"Would you be adverse to him learning?" The question was directed at Mira.

"Adverse?" She shook her head, "No, if anything I would be glad. Defending oneself is a must in our age. Would you be teaching him then?"

"That is entirely up to Rakos," He did not explain what he meant by such words, but Mira could see the underlying meaning.

She nodded to his response, "He won't disappoint you."

Geralt stood up from the table, he will meditate for a bit then head to sleep. Before he could leave he felt a hand on his and turned to Mira. She gave him a close hug which allowed him to feel the curves of her body on his. The fullness of her breasts as they pressed into his ribs, and he adored how her hair tickled his neck from her resting head on his collar bone. He reciprocated the action with a firm hug of his own around her waist. Even though she was forged with iron, she was still a woman.

"Thank you," She stated with a soft whisper, she did not specify what warranted this gratitude. Geralt only nodded. Once they separated she went to her room and prepared for sleep.

* * *

When Geralt finished his nightly meditation, he removed the sheepskin bandage that covered his gash. It seems to be healing quickly, too quickly for humans. Already it was scabbed over and in a couple of days only a scar would remain. Another story added to the canvas that was his body. If only he could remember the stories associated with the other scars, but alas amnesia still struck him. Hopefully when he travels around Essos after these next few days he will be able to retrieve some memories.

It was a strange sensation, having all this deadly training yet not remembering the path to the results. When he got into the fight with that snot Vorus and his goons, he did not even think as he fought. It was all muscle reactions and immediate actions, no wasted or hesitated movements; reflexes beyond what was human guided him. He knew he could crush those individuals, but he did not know the why. All the moves are instilled in his body and subconscious. Parry, pirouette sword strike, group slaying, and much more. He must have been fighting for years that is certain.

It seems not even meditation is helping with his memory, but it is too soon to tell. Geralt dug into his trousers and removed the dog amulet found on his person. No matter how much he stared at the treasure, it still set him ill at ease. For a second time since looking towards the dogs, the wolf around his neck shook slightly but stopped after a moment, this time it was noticeable. None of this made sense in Geralt's mind, but he felt the slight chaotic energy coming from the amulet. If only something would return to his mind and point him in the right direction, but his memories were like smoke. This obstruction will not deter him though.

He returned the hound amulet back to safe keeping and just prepared for bed.

* * *

Geralt and Rakos were once again working together the next luminous morning. A new garden next to the previous one needs to be dug out, so similar work will be done. The witcher got the feeling that Mira wanted Rakos to speak up about the training, that's why she stuck them together again. Now it was up to the boy to be ready.

"Why will you not train me?"

Geralt turned to the boy to see his head was towards the ground as he used a grub hoe to mix the dirt that was ripped up evenly.

"I didn't say I would not train you," Geralt's response was truthful and simple, "Only that you need a proper answer for as to _why_ I should train you."

Rakos looked up sharply, "Did I not give you one. I need strength to protect my family."

"An honorable goal if nothing else," Geralt continued onwards, "And there may be some truth in your words, but you're omitting something."

"What are you speaking of, I told nothing but truth." Even though he said these words, Rakos voice trembled slightly.

All Geralt did was turn his piercing golden wolf eyes towards the boy's face, no response was needed.

"What is it you wish to hear, huh," A white knuckle grip appeared on the grub hoe in the boy's hand, and a dark shadow covered his eyes as he looked down, "That I aspire to rip out the entrails of Khal Ogo and shove them down his throat." These words were spoken in a menacing whisper.

"Watch him choke to death as I beat him with a whip like he did my father," The words were pouring out now as he looked up harshly into Geralt's eyes, "That savage oaf took my father away from me! For what purpose!? Just so he can have a slave! Those barbarians will get nothing but death from my hands whether you teach me or not!"

The wolf did not budge as Rakos yelled in rage, the boy needed this.

"It boils the blood in me knowing that sick Khal lives to this day. He must die for his actions, because my father was only one of the thousands that man has enslaved! If no one will stand to that Khal then I will!"

"Even if that means abandoning your family," Geralt's quick response was meant to test the child's resolve.

"When Eymir comes of age he can take of the farm and family," Rakos response was just as quick, "I am not destined to live and die on this plot of land. I will make sure of that."

"And if they are attacked while you are gone, how will you protect them then?" Now to see his true mettle.

Rakos took a breath and closed his eyes, "I must live with my choices, no matter the outcome they bring. It would devastate me to see more of my family pass, but to not pursue this goal would bring great regret to me." The boy was resolute, he would not be swayed. From what Geralt could tell, Rakos thought of this for quite some time.

"To seek revenge one must dig two graves, one for their victim and the other for themselves," One more statement to see if the boy knew exactly what he was getting into.

Rakos stared up towards Geralt without fear, "I will admit that I seek vengeance, but it is not that simple. These Dothraki are violent scum of the plains. They attack peaceful villages and Lhazareen people just because they have the strength to do so. They have no order, no law, just their own selfish desire. They are beast in human skin, so I will not be just killing humans. This will be monster slaying."

_Monster slaying._

Violent images passed by Geralt's mind. Great birds the size of small huts ripping human flesh to pieces with their talons and beaks. Massive wolves that stand on hind legs swiping towards the witcher's face like wind with their piercing claws. Phantasmal human-like creatures that hold transparent forms giving shrill shrieks of rage at his approach. A massive group of drowned undead sprinting towards him with the intent to kill. Monsters. From these memories Geralt could tell much of these ill beings died by his sword. Is this who he was? A monster slayer? A piece of the puzzle that was his past has been granted to him.

Rakos stood still as he watched the white haired man enter a trance of some sort. The man who entered his family's life did not move at all as this blank look entered his animal eyes, but soon he shook his head to gain his bearings. "Are you alright?" Rakos wondered what brought on this strange behavior.

Geralt did not provide detail to his slight bout with his memory. It was best to keep these thoughts to himself and find out more about these creatures before rambling to others. So he just turned to Rakos and stared him down a bit longer before speaking, "So you want to slay monsters with my teachings?" Rakos did not know just how lucky he was.

"Yes," The son of Duny nodded his head vigorously, his previous question forgotten.

"Then you'll begin learning after work today," The light of excitement that crossed the boy's face caused Geralt to smirk a bit, "It will not be easy, you'll hate me for the training I'll put you through."

"No I could never hate you for the chance you bring me," Rakos shook his head at the statement.

"You say that now…" the witcher trailed off there, "You must get two blunt longswords for practice, I trust you can fetch those?" The boy nodded his head, "Make sure they are heavier than normal, the weight will be needed for you."

The speed at which the boy nodded his head might snap his neck off. The excitement of youth.

Geralt supposed he could give the boy some training, after all without his words the witcher would have no place to begin the search of his past. Not only that, such techniques to defend oneself are a must. So the wolf will search about these monsters during his stay in Lhazar while he trained the boy. See if those monsters have a connection to him.

It seems the white wolf will be staying in Lhazar longer than anticipated.

* * *

"I said Parry!"

"I'm trying!"

"Well try harder and faster! If I was an enemy you would be bleeding on the ground!"

Mira watched in amusement at the interaction between Geralt and Rakos. It seems Rakos was able to weasel out the training after all. Nyla and Eymir finished their work and were currently playing with the other children on the main road, out front. The mother decided to sit out back on a stool to watch how her son soaked up the training presented to him, and currently he was a sweating and bruised mess on the dirt.

Geralt was ruthless with his training and only offered minuscule breaks. The training was designed to push the body to its max limits to promote strength, speed and power as he stated. Next he would work on his endurance. This was all done while gaining battle experience by sparing with Geralt consistently. Truly hellish.

"Get up, now we fight with fists," The witcher commanded.

"But I thought I was learning how to use a sword," The boy was perplexed while he tried to stand, his legs felt like soft fruit.

"Only a fool completely relies on a weapon," The wolf stated harshly, "What happens when it is taken from you? Hand to hand is the basis of all combat, and if you can crush a man with your fist a sword would only make you deadlier. So you'll be learning how to use both."

The boy nodded as he lifted his sore arms into fists, that blunt sword he got murdered his shoulders.

"Keep your feet shoulder width apart and bend your knees slightly, your power comes from your core so explode from there when you strike." Geralt instructed as he lifted his hands into open palms, "Now strike!"

The boy tried, missed and earned a harsh slap to his ear as he tumbled forward. Mira shook her head with a laugh as she watched her son groan in pain. He desired this after all, so he will reap what he sowed. After the spar they went back to sprints while carrying logs, Geralt ran besides her boy to motivate him supposedly.

"Keep moving! Don't you dare stop!" What a harsh taskmaster.

This nightmarish training proceeded until the sun began to fall, and eventually Geralt relieved Rakos of the dutiful practice. Mira approached the two of them and saw that Geralt was barely winded, while Rakos was gulping for breaths on the floor. "So did you enjoy your training?" The mothers smile was so innocent that Rakos knew she enjoyed his pain.

"Ughh…" He couldn't speak. Everything hurt.

"Well get inside, I am making dinner and it will be done soon." She watched as her son pulled himself from the grave and waddle into the house. She turned back to Geralt with a smirk and raised eyebrow.

He only shrugged and spoke with that deadpan voice and face of his, "He wanted to learn."

She tittered lightly, "That he did, now come with me so we may eat."

The family gathered together to eat and Geralt noticed Rakos just wanted to eat so he could sleep. Supper was the usual affair and once the children finished they went to bed, Nyla and Eymir were laughing at the pain Rakos felt each step he took.

When everything was cleaned up Geralt spoke up, "I'll be going to the temple for a bit."

"The temple," Mira looked at him in question, "What do you need there?"

"I need some information, and they have some books there," They may have legends on those monsters that entered his mind. Maybe he could find some information on their hunters as well.

"I see," The farmer nodded her head, "Be careful as you go there, I will bathe before heading to sleep." The mother left with those last words and Geralt went on his way. Time to see if he could unlock more memories.

* * *

_Impossible_, Geralt thought as he sat on a table with a candle light next to him while he stared into the book. A stack of tomes in common tongue sat beside him and he could find nothing in each of them about what he remembered. The library here only had a small amount of Westerosi written books, they are quite hard to acquire apparently. He remembered many monsters and some did not appear in the books he found. Sure he found knowledge on dragons, unicorns, and krakens, but they are only legends. Said not to be among men for centuries.

However the specific monsters he searched for he could not find. No drowners, werewolves, ghouls, wraiths, harpies, or Draugirs. Some did exists, basilisks and wyverns being them, but there were many inconsistencies in what he was finding so it just left him with more questions. He couldn't even find information on those who hunted them; not many made a profession from monster hunting. No one like him especially.

So what happened to all the monsters that live in his memories? It was a shame that he could only remember the monsters he hunted and the fights when he slew them. He could not remember anything else other than his monster hunting, not even the people who trained him for it. The gaps in his memories are very unhelpful.

He saw Mirri approach him from the side of his eye and sit in front of him, "Did you find what you seek?" She was the one who helped him find the books.

"No," He stated in disappointment, "Only more questions and less answers."

"Why search about monsters might I ask?" She was curious as to the specific subject he was looking for.

Geralt debated on whether he should tell her or not. Eventually he decided that keeping such things to himself would not assist him, he needs to find information wherever it rested. "I believe I was a monster hunter, and I wanted to see if I could find any information on beasts that would affect my memories. Yet nothing."

"A monster hunter you say?" She quirked an eyebrow, "There are many monsters in this world, shadowcats, wyverns, and basilisks to name a few. You hunted these monster as a profession?" It certainly explained all the scars and his skill in fighting.

"Of a sort," He did not go into any more detail, because the monsters he was looking for did not seem to live here. Maybe they just didn't have the proper knowledge of them in this part of the world?

"Well I am sorry to say I know not much of such creatures, only the Spirits and dead are to my understanding," She provided him with a piece of information that startled him.

_Spirits and dead? What does she mean_, this thought entered his head. He spoke to her with his narrowed golden eyes, "You speak of controlling these wraiths?"

She gave him a smile that set him on edge, "I do not control them, I simply sing and they dance to my tune. If they wish to assist me that is up to them."

Geralt did not like that at all. The dead are to be left alone, their time in this world has passed. Those arts are forbidden not only on an ethical level, but a simple human level to Geralt. He made sure that this _maegi_ understood that, "Such dark arts only lead to ruin, not many consider them worthy of praise to know."

"I paid a price for learning such magic, so I understand the depths of it possibilities," She did not explain the price which she paid. It could only be dearly.

At least Geralt learned that wraiths possibly live in this area as well. However now it was time to take his leave, so he said his goodbyes to the witch and left go back and sleep. He did not wish to be in the temple anymore. He is not prejudice towards mages, but the actions of people need to be considered. Any mage who wishes to control the dead is one who can prove to have a black side to them. He must be careful around that woman now, which is a shame, he likes her.

When he arrived to the front of the hut, he saw Mira sitting on the bench by a candle light and a tome in her hand. He sat next to her and was enveloped with her lovely fresh bathed sent. She smelled of freshly cut lavenders, and clean linens. It was heavenly to his nose.

"I thought you would be sleeping?" She did say she was preparing for bed.

"I was not tired yet," She looked up from her tome and turned to Geralt. This time her hair was not up in a bun, but it flowed down to the small of her back like a black waterfall, "So I decided reading a tome would help tire my eyes before sleeping. It was such a nice night that not experiencing it would be a shame."

It was a nice night, nary a cloud was in sight and the moon gave off such strong light that it illuminated the whole town with its soft glow. Crickets purred softly which added to the characteristic depth of the night. Lhazar had such breathtaking night times.

They enjoyed the quiet that was brought to them as they once again sat and stared into the night. These moments were precious to Geralt. While others pursue many grand happenings, the white wolf learned to appreciate the beauty in simplicity. It felt great to just share this night with another.

Geralt felt a head softly rest onto his shoulder as a soft calloused hand grabbed hold of his. He turned see Mira rest and breathe softly onto him before she responded, "I just want to enjoy this quiet night; can we sit here for a time?"

Geralt just nodded his head before he relaxed his back against the house so Mira could sit more comfortably.

* * *

The next week in Lhazar did not change much. Geralt would awake and assist Mira and the children with farm work. Afterwards, Rakos would experience much pain and dread while training. Geralt was preparing him though. In time he will leave and Rakos will have a strict training regime to follow, so his strength would only be up to him. His independence is an important factor to growing up, especially someone with his goal. Yet he left Rakos with words of warning.

"You will not attack or murder someone innocent. These skills are only to protect yourself, your family, and to kill monsters. Only true monsters deserve your sword, and if I find that you murdered the guiltless, you will regret it. Do you understand?"

He did not need to explain what monsters meant, for monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Including human shaped. Rakos pledged himself to those words and Geralt was glad to hear it.

The white wolf's time in Lhazar will come to an end, but first he must complete Rakos's training. Also he has yet to get the invite to the bed of Mira and he is hoping for it soon. Yet it was no longer just about sex to him, he actually likes this woman he has come to know. So he just wants to please her in all possible ways, including in the ways of bedding.

So life went on in Lhazar, and the peaceful mornings continued. Yet the time of halcyon days always approaches an end.

* * *

Geralt awoke to loud shouts and screaming. They seemed to be far from the house but to his senses it was as if they were in the room with him. He stood up from his cot and quickly donned his boots and clothing. Running outside the home he could smoke rising from the distance on the other side of town, people were screaming and yelling in pain. This felt familiar to the witcher, someone was sacking the town. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and turned to see Mira staring wide eyed at the current carnage. The white wolf needed to act fast.

"Get inside and take the children into your room, barricade the doors," She looked at him in shock, still not believing this is currently happening. So he shook her, "I need to find a weapon, so get ready to move now!"

"There is a bladed longsword inside the storage room," Rakos, the eldest son responded from behind Mira. He held his two siblings by their hands.

Geralt turned towards his protégé, "Bring it to me."

Once he had the longsword in his hand, he made sure Mira and the children got situated safely in her room. Before he could leave however, Mira grabbed him by his shoulders and gave him a tender kiss on his lips. Geralt made sure he could taste everything from her, for this could be his last one. Every battle had a chance of death, but the witcher will always fight to the end. If evil comes to take something from him, he will always fight; to the death. Once they pulled away, he gently pushed her inside the room and shut the door, "Barricade it, and stay away from windows!"

He stood near the front door of the hut and discreetly looked out the window._ These warriors move fast_, he noticed. Already he could see a group of copper skinned, leather armored, horse riders plow down the streets in a quick gallop with their scythe like blades. They were butchering anything in sight, men, woman, and children. It made no difference to them, they will get their spoils of war when the fighting died down. At least the sword in his hand is one made of good steel, it will do well in this battle with its V shaped cross-guard and leather handle. A witcher with a sword in his hand is a deadly opponent for even dragons to face.

A group of foot soldiers started kicking down the doors to the houses farther up the main road, searching for more blood. Geralt could smell blood in the air, as more of these barbarians came through. Apparently the guards of this town are not well trained, because the witcher saw quite a few run away while their fellow guardsmen were cut down. This city will not last long against such a tenacious force. Were these the Dothraki he heard so much about? No matter, they will fall if they come here, the white wolf will make sure of that.

A group of Dothraki screamers are approaching this door now, it was only a matter of time. He could hear them bark out orders in that brutal and ineloquent language of theirs. It seems language really does show how people truly are; culturally and individually. The people of Lhazar have their soft spoken and rhythmic language to show that they support peace and unity. The Dothraki's language speaks of their violent and bestial behavior, with its curt stops and harsh pronunciation. Geralt knew at that moment there was no possible chance of peace, the Dothraki's blood will be spilled.

Before their feet could crash open the door, the White Wolf kicked it towards them with such a force that it broke off and crashed into the first adversary. That man was dead by a longsword in the gut before he had a chance to even blink. The rest of the group quickly backed away, Geralt counted seven. This will be quick work for him as he raised his sword and prepared to send more lives to the other side.

* * *

She sat gracefully upon her magnificent young and spirited silver frilly. Even with her bulbous belly displaying the state of her pregnancy, Daenerys Targaryen _khaleesi_ to the _khalasar _of the blooded warrior Khal Drogo, rode forward in a slow trot. Her splendor was noticed by all with her silver-blonde hair, shining purple eyes, and sun tanned porcelain like skin. Her short curvaceous stature did nothing to hide the long shadow she casts. Even though she was pregnant it was Dothraki custom for her to be able to ride a horse until her child's birth, however she also does not wish to appear weak in the eyes of her Sun-and-Stars. Many would tell her though that she is far from the meek and timid girl she once was, after all the blood of the dragon rushed strongly through her veins.

Dany's beauty however was currently being juxtaposed to the scene that surrounded her. The mighy Khal Drogo's _khalasar_ was almost finished slaughtering and pillaging the lamb men of the rather large town they came across. Apparently, they needed slaves and merchandise so they can gather the ships they needed to cross the narrow sea and take back her iron throne. So they will be collecting what was required in this town, a nasty business in the eyes of the _khaleesi._

Being a victim of brutalization herself gave her much empathy towards those suffering from such a fate. Dany's heart ached as she heard the cries of mothers holding their dead children, the screams of bloody slaves being cracked with whips, and the shrieks of children as death closed down on them for trying to escape. Nevertheless, she must be strong so she steeled her emotions, for if she wants the iron throne it will require strength to take it. Men only respect might in this world of hers.

Ser Jorah Mormont rode besides her in this carnage, with his green surcoat surrounding his mail. Gauntlets, greaves, and helm of dark steel protecting him from damage that approached his way. When they met at the entrance gate of the town, he told her Drogo awaited for her near the center of town. So Dany and her handmaidens, protected by Ser Jorah and her _khas,_ low level soldiers, strode forward to meet her lord husband.

Dany couldn't help but feel worry for her sun-and-stars, "Did Drogo come to harm?"

"Only a few cuts," The bear responded, "He battled many lamb guards today, some captains of great renown, but they all fell." Dany was relieved to hear.

"Few sheep herders fled, but many a thousand were also captured," As Jorah spoke, Dany thought of their fate. They would be taken to some town in Slavers Bay or Meereen, and neither spot bode well for the newly enslaved soft sheep. Dany wanted to cry, but this was the price for her iron throne, _the blood family of dragons does not weep,_ she must stay strong.

Her hands tightened on the reigns of her silver as she heard the screams of a girl no older than her across the main road, she was face down on a pile of corpses being mounted unwillingly by a horselord. She couldn't help but notice a queue of other riders were waiting their turn. Dany tried to ignore it, but the long sobbing wails the girl produced ignited a fire in her.

"Make them stop," she commanded.

"_Khaleesi_?" The knight and her _khas _were baffled.

"Did you misinterpret my command? Stop them," The _khaleesi_ will have her way.

"Princess," Jorah turned to her, "You are kind, but this is the way of war. The horselords fought and died for their Khal, so they will have their rewards."

Dany was quick to respond, "She will no longer be harmed, I claim her as my own," She then turned to her _khas_, "Do as I command or Drogo will hear of this."

"Ai, _khaleesi,_" They carried out her orders with haste. Jorah turned to her with a smile.

"You really are the blood of Rhaegar," Dany didn't respond as Jorah the Andal road off to assist the _kahs_.

First her warriors ordered the other horselords but they were laughed off. The next attempt was not nearly as forgiving. Jhogo, one of her _kahs, _swung his _arakh_ towards the rapist and beheaded the man in a single sweep. The others waiting for their turn quickly backed away when they realized her _kahs _were following her orders. When the girl was brought to her, she trembled with blank eyes, Dany made one of her handmaidens look to the poor girl's pain.

As they continued on the road to Drogo, the heir to the seven kingdoms gathered more rape victims, both young and old. Eventually Jorah spoke up warning the _khaleesi_ that the Dothraki following Drogo will not appreciate this. This did not deter her one bit.

Eventually they found the mighty Khal sitting in front of a stone and mud temple. Even sitting he proposed an intimidating figure, with his mustachio and long braided hair signifying his undefeated status. Besides him were his ever vigilant bloodriders and a pile of heads almost as tall as Drogo; each man contained some sort of wound, the sheep fought well but failed. An arrow from the lamb men stuck out in the upper meat of Drogo's muscled right arm, and a cut that slid from the right top of his chest to his nipple opened enough skin for blood and muscle to be visible.

The Khal got injured because he desired some challenge, and he knew the Lhazareen would give him no contest if he attacked with his whole horde; so he gave the sheep men the chance to show some spine. He attacked the lamb town with only a measly two thousand of his forty thousand strong _khalasar_ while the rest of his force awaited outside the gates incase needed. Even with his reduced numbers the weak sheep could not stand before their ruthlessness. From what Dany knew many of the _khalasar_ still awaited camped outside the gates.

"You are wounded sun of my life," she said in worried while she knelt before her lord husband.

"Tis a scratch moon of my life," He replied in the common tongue, "Small lamb men with even smaller arms, make easy for I to lose sight of them. They pay with their lives."

She smiled at his strength, "None can oppose one as strong as the sun of my life."

A Dothraki screamer rode up to the Khal and dropped down from his horse. He spoke to one of Drogo's bloodriders in a harsh stream of Dothraki words that went over the _khaleesi_'s head.

Haggo, the bloodrider, turned a hard face to the great Khal and said, "This rider is called Mago. He says that the _khaleesi _has taken his spoils, a daughter of the lamb men."

Khal Drogo's face was a picture of stone when he turned to Dany, "Is this true?" This time he spoke in Dothraki.

Since he spoke in Dothraki, Daenerys did the same and explained what she had done. She was direct with her words and her face showed no fear. The khal voiced his displeasure by stating that this was the way of war, the weak are oppressed while the strong get their spoils. However that did not appease the dragon in her.

"If your warriors wish to mount these women, they must keep them as wives," She would offer no quarter.

The cruelest of Drogo's bloodriders spoke in disgust, "The horses do not produce with sheep."

Anger colored the _khaleesi's_ voice, "The dragon feeds on horses and sheep alike."

The great khal barked in laughter, "She how fierce she grows! My son in her brings out her hidden fire!" The great rider was immensely proud of his moon, "Mago, these slaves belong to the _khaleesi_, find elsewhere to stick your cock." The rider left with a mad look dancing across his face, it seem this slight would not go well with Mago. When the khal lifted his hand to his wife, he grimaced in pain. Dany noticed.

"Bring the healers," she ordered.

Ser Jorah responded, "They are busy with other riders' _khaleesi_."

"Silver lady," someone called out, "I can heal the khal's wounds."

It was the rotund Lhazareen women she saved from one of the riders. While the bloodriders disagreed saying this women, Mirri Maz Duur, laid with demons, Dany only cared to heal her husband. So the _maegi _removed the arrow and applied the patch and ointment necessary to heal the great khal's wounds.

It was after the healing that another horse rider came galloping to the Khal from the east side of town, fear expressed on his face. He leapt from his horse and landed in front of the khal speaking in rushed Dothraki. Dany only caught some of the words spoken, 'white demon' was one of them. The daughter of the mad king noticed that the _maegi_, Mirri, jump slightly at the words mentioned from the rider.

"_Khaleesi_," Jorah started to translate for her, "This rider was serving in the _khas _of Ko Pono who was tasked to take the south-eastern part of town with a group of two hundred. They lost half of their forces to archers during the main fighting, but something else has happened. It seems Ko Pono and the rest of his forces are dying at the hands of a platinum white haired demon."

Platinum white hair? From what Daenerys understood only Valyrian's have such features or a really old man. She couldn't help but be interested, but Drogo was more interested in the strength of this warrior. After all, to strike fear in a Dothraki one must cast a large shadow. Dany watched as a grin spread across the face of her lord husband, he was looking for blood now. He barked out orders in Dothraki to his bloodriders and a group fellow warriors.

They will be riding out to the east of town. Dany stood up with him and went to her horse. Jorah turned to her in surprise, "_Khaleesi_, there is no need to put yourself in this danger."

"I'm interested in seeing who is still fighting after all this," She was determined to see who this white haired man was, "Besides Drogo will be there, and so I will not be in danger." She trusts her husband whole heartedly.

Drogo looked to his wife from atop his red stallion with a smile, he was not worried for her. After all, the safest place for her was by his side and he will not be going anywhere for a while.

* * *

Mira with the help of her children quickly pushed her oaken dresser in front of the door, preventing it from opening. Once that was taken care of she grabbed her children by their hands and moved into the corner of the room, away from the sole window. She could hear screams erupt from outside so she told her children to sit down and cover their ears. They did not need to be scarred by the bloodcurdling shrieks. At least her children obeyed.

Once again Dothraki have come to take what was important to her. First it was her husband and now her peaceful town and possibly her children. What right do these barbarians have!? She couldn't stop the sickening weight that entered her stomach. She hopes the mysterious man, Geralt, is enough to protect her family. Even though she hoped, she knew it was impractical for one man to fight a horde. With any luck the lamb god smiles upon her family and they will be able to escape this nightmare alive.

Ultimately, she heard her front door explode with a crash, and her children jumped. She had to hush her youngest, Nyla, to stop her from crying but tears still escaped her blue eyes. They could not attract any Dothraki with noise, it would be their end. She heard harsh breathing coming from Rakos, and Mira turned to see him clutching his fist tightly as anger entered his gaze.

She whispered to him, "Do not think of leaving this spot!" They do not need any foolish heroics right now. She just wants her children alive and safe at the end of this, nothing more.

He turned his flashing eyes to her, "We should just sit here while Geralt gives his life for us, I will not be a craven; I am trained for this!" Ever since his father died at the hands of Dothraki, Rakos became a quiet child, but Mira saw what was in his heart. Anger, pure unadulterated rage. Now the outlet for his rage sits in front of his home, but Mira will not let him run off to death.

"I do not care if you are seen as craven and you only trained for a week! I will not lose any of my children!" Her harsh whispers seemed to have gotten through to him as he began to slow his breathing. "You are the eldest so you must watch over you brother and sister." Those final words seem to have shaken him slightly as he looked towards his crying sister and his brother who closed his eyes shut and covered his ears to block out the world.

They could hear the clashing of steel outside the window, followed by more shrieks and grunts of pain. Considering more fighting is still going on outside and no Dothraki have come for them, Geralt must be holding them off rather well.

Once her thoughts turned to Geralt she could not help but wonder about the taciturn man. Even though he did smile slightly and chuckle, they were on rare occasion. One had to coax those kinds of responses out of him, but luckily Mira was skilled in the art of conversation and reading people; it comes with being well traveled. She got the impression that he was a lone wolf that preferred being alone, yet also was not above enjoying company.

He was definitely a womanizer, with his roguish charm, confidence, and aloof persona; all manner of woman were opened to him. Yet also a man of honor given the fact he was laying his life on the line to protect her family. The amount of gratitude she has towards this alien man now is endless.

Which is why the pit in her stomach increased tenfold, because the idea of this man giving up his life for a family he just met made her feel… conflicted. She was happy that a chance of survival for her family improved, yet saddened that she may never get a chance to enjoy his company if he made a misstep. If she could help him in any way she will take that chance, because this lovely mother knows she will regret missing that chance.

And Mira will always do her best to not live with any regrets.

More horrid yells approached her from the window, and from her angle she was able to see a Dothraki run up the main road without his right arm before an arrow entered his throat. It seems not all the guards have abandon the city yet, there may actually be some hope in this situation. She will continue to watch through the window, and glean any information she can. Fortunately being crouched this low to the floor allowed her to be able to see through the window, but others would not see her unless they came right next to it.

Yes, Mira will continue to watch, to not do so will be an insult to the man fighting for their lives. After all she is a Westerosi Notherner, and they are always loyal to those they owe a debt to. Loyalty runs deep in their veins.

* * *

**An: So how was it? Please give some constructive criticism, it would help not only me but you guys as well. Since it makes me a better writer.**

**Also don't you guys just hate cliffhangers? Always missing the big fight till next time, which I will do my best to make awesome for the next chapter.**

**Till next time! XD**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Well guys here is the big fight scene you have all been waiting for! Please excuse any crappy grammar, and on the topic of grammar I have an announcement. I am currently looking for a Beta so if anyone is interested in the position please PM, I could use the help with overlooking these chapters so PM me and we can talk about it.**

**Now this is my first huge battle scene, and I was trying to catch the ****volatility of medieval combat, where one step means death so I hope I captured that. Tell me what you guys think, was there to much detail, to little detail, to short, to long, not enough description, all that stuff. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or the Witcher series, they are owned by G.R.R.M and A.S.**

**Enjoy!**

Geralt watched as blood slowly dripped from the tip of his blade down onto the cobblestone road. Eight bodies were collapsed around him, some bifurcated at their stomachs allowing their sinuous intestines to pour out, and others missing their heads. The one dark-skinned Dothraki trapped underneath the door was still alive apparently, though the forking through the gut will kill him soon, but not soon enough. The white wolf stalked forward as the downed warrior clawed himself away screaming in his home tongue, but he was to slow. The blade descended and found purchase inside the soft temple of the savage, he stopped crawling.

The opening salvo has been taken care of. Now Geralt will prepare for the next wave, and this one will surely be larger. Already he could hear more clopping hooves on cobblestone as horses galloped towards him, they will be here shortly. The monster hunter breathed deeply into his lower stomach and expanded his senses, he will fight at his max.

A group of Dothraki on horseback were giving war cries as they rushed towards him. Geralt was surprised to see an arrow enter the head of the vanguard charger and watched as he collapsed from his horse, but this did not stop the horselords. Three allied archers are spread out on the rooftops providing the wolf and the village some support. Even a few groups of guards were fighting further up the main road, it seems he will not be completely alone in this battle. Their distractions may save his life.

The scythe like _arakh _came swooping towards his head from horseback, but a duck allowed him to escape danger and sever the leg from the horse. His three fellow horselords suffered a similar fate as their horses lost their legs to a streak of white and gold. They were on his level now, Geralt noted as the screamers arose from their collapsed horses.

Each one foolishly struck at him sequentially, but he was able to block and avoid each strike gracefully. These warriors fought with a savage intensity, however their group tactics needed more polishing. One requires more than savage intensity to bring down a witcher, brains are also needed.

"ARGH~!"

The yell of pain came from the Dothraki that just lost his right arm and _arakh_ to the claws of wolf. The man tried to run towards the way he arrived, up the cobblestone road, but an arrow entered his throat before he could escape.

The witcher was low to the ground as he charged forward at the rest of the group. Each sword strike that exploded from his body was part of an intricate dance that allowed him to flow from one opponent to another. There was no hesitated movement in his deadly dance of death, and every attack found the flesh of his enemies.

Schlikt! Whoosh! Swash!

Dark red blood shot in the air not unlike a geyser from the lifeless Dothraki soldiers. Geralt's tunic was no longer just white.

As the hunter turned his head to see more of the approaching horde and pillaging mongrels, he could not help but feel cornered. Normally in this type of situation the witcher would use guerrilla tactics and move about the town while attacking. Strike hard and fast while running through alleyways to get the enemy off his trail. However, he could not afford that. If this area is left without his protection, Mira and the children would be in harm's way. All it would take is one greedy Dothraki looking for coin and that would be the end of the family.

This is something the white wolf would not allow, for this pack is under his protection, and no harm shall befall them so long as he breathed. Yet this also left him at a disadvantage, these Dothraki don't seem to have anything to lose. They are living for this slaughter, so they will attack endlessly. Geralt's willpower will allow him to persevere though, for while the Dothraki have nothing to lose, the wolf cannot allow his current den to fall. These savages are entering hallowed ground now, they will suffer the price.

A new cluster of savages are now approaching him, but this time they were more cautious. It seems they witnessed what happened to their fellow killers, and they learned from their mistakes. Good for them, bad for him. Geralt kept his blade up as they slowly encircled him with their group of five. It seems they will try striking together this time.

One came from the back, another from the front. A simple pincer that was solved by ducking under the slash from the front and stabbing the man behind him in through the groin to the stomach. Geralt kicked forward and knocked the other from his feet before leaping into action against the other three. Swords clashed a multitude of times to produce a singing of steel, but soon that singing turned to shrieks of pain as one Dothraki felt his ribs and lungs crash into sharp steel, he could no longer breath. The other two, standing side by side, tried attacking Geralt from behind but their lower jaws and chins shattered into a shower of bone, blood, and gore. Their now long tongues gurgled in a confused death rattle at the steel they never saw approaching.

The last Dothraki that rose from the previous kick was breathing harshly as fear entered his gaze. Yet he still stood to fight with his _arakh_ in hand, brave, but foolish. Geralt's blade reached the sky before it crashed down hard into the shoulder of the Dothraki. He tried blocking the executioner's blade but it split him from shoulder to hip, as blood gushed onto the britches of the wolf. He watched as the light of life exited the Dothraki's eye, and to the wolf these savages finally seemed human in death.

That distraction came with a slight cost to the hunter though. He heard the footsteps approach from behind so Geralt quickly rolled away, but not without a wound. A shallow cut that reached from shoulder blade to hip, _the rider will pay dearly for that_, Geralt thought as he gained his bearings.

Yet the rider came striking again, he would not let his prey escape. This time the wolf was ready, so he parried the strike and pushed out with his free hand to grab the Dothraki by the throat. However, what Geralt planned did not occur. A translucent blue force exploded from his palm and crashed into the face of the dark-skinned warrior. He went tumbling back more than a few feet and lost some teeth in the process, it seems the man is out cold.

Geralt looked towards his hand in shock. He has no idea how that transpired, another oddity to add with his recent memory lost. Does he control magic at the tips of his fingers?

"_Maegi_!"

The wolf turned to see that a group of Dothraki spotted him performing this mystical act. He could see the slight tremor in the hands that held their _arakhs_, he must kill them quickly before they spread their foolish words. He has no idea how the others will react to this new found power, and from the look the Dothraki gave him it would not be a pleasant reaction.

He charged forward in a sprint with his sword trailing behind him, and he saw one of the Dothraki take a few steps back. Good, that fear will be used to his advantage. Gwynbleidd clashed with the Dothraki in front, their steel grinding against each other. He watched as a fellow rider tried slicing him from the side, but Geralt was prepared. He grabbed the leather lapels of the Dothraki he was stalemated with and threw him into the path of his fellow soldier's sword. The blade sunk deep into the skull of his ally, but it did not deter the fellow rider as he pulled out his blooded _arakh_. Apparently they have little care for the lives of their allies, as long as they kill the enemy the Dothraki win.

Geralt took a few steps back before initiating one of his graceful death motions on the remaining four. He moved forward to execute and he did so with water flowing movements. Each time the Dothraki struck the monster slayer moved like smoke to avoid their blades, and when he did a sword would find its way into the throats, eyes, and bodies of the horselords. They all began to fall into a puddle of their own life.

The slight stinging wound that was on Geralt's back was negligent now that adrenaline rushed through his veins. The wound… That reminds him, a quick stab through the throat of the unconscious rider made sure he will never speak again.

With that screamer dead, the monster hunter turned his attention to the rest of the horde. Only two of his allied archers remained, for the other seemed to have experienced an ill fate at the hands of the Dothraki archers. Some more groups of town guards seem to be living, but they probably will not last long.

More work needed to be done, luckily Geralt was a professional. He always prided himself at being able to do good work.

* * *

"Mercy-!"

The _arakh _in his hand crashed into the skull of the of the lamb guard with a wet crack. Ko Pono has no time for mercy, especially for weak lambs. The man wielding the now bloodied blade had a dark braid with bells that went to the middle of his back. The only reason he needed it cut was because of his defeat at the hands of the great Khal Drogo, otherwise Ko Pono was a beast in combat.

Standing at a rather tall height with a full beard and a hairy muscled chest that was covered in slight leather and horse skin garments, the dark skin warrior produced an imposing aura. One needed to be imposing to be a Ko, a lieutenant, in the army of Khal Drogo. It is Pono who was tasked with the capture of this part of the city and he shall do so swiftly.

"Do not waste time, kill the lamb archers!" He barked his orders in quick Dothraki to get his soldiers moving. He will continue to travel down the road and collect more heads, for this is their way.

A group of three lamb guards came running up towards him with their short swords, and every time they swung at him the Ko would shift and slide to avoid. One of the guards overreached and that gave Pono the opening he needed. A quick swipe of his blade cut out the guard's larynx, and he followed through with his motion towards the other two. A clash of steel occurred but when Pono removed his dagger, the man's life ended with a stab in the heart. The other guard tried escaping in fear when he saw his two allies meet their lamb god, but Pono would not allow that. His dagger flew from his hand and landed into the back of the coward's skull, and he fell forward promptly.

The Ko scoffed in disgust at their pitiful display, this town will fall in a matter of moments. They cannot stand up to their full force.

"You!" Pono pointed to the group of five Dothraki screamers behind him, "Come with me, we will take care of those pesky archers!" They followed his command without complaint nor hesitation. As they should.

Together they traveled down the main road, slaughtering any sheep that came their way. Soon they were able to find some archers on the roofs of huts and buildings. It was because of these archers that the Ko lost many of his forces, and he was not even completely to the south-east side of the town yet. These archers were smart by staying up on the huts of both sides of the main road, but once they are taken care of the town will fall.

Pono pointed to the archers in his group and ordered them to fire until they are dead. The Ko himself will go and flank these annoying flies. So he ran off the main road into the alleyways and began to climb the back of a hut a current archer was firing from.

Once to the top he crouched and snuck up behind the lamb archer, a quick swipe of his _arakh_ finished him off with a decapitation. Ko Pono picked up the discarded bow and arrows and began ending the lives of the other archers from the roof. He was able to end six archers with his marksmanship, because Pono was just as good with a bow as he was with a blade.

When he was finished with the archers in his sight he began to order his men from the roof, "Move forward! I do not want to see a single lamb guard standing or your scalps shall be mine!" Pono was a ruthless commander, that's why he always got results.

His forces push forward with a war cry and they began to savagely attack the lamb guards. This was what made the Dothraki fearsome, not their bows, not their _arakhs_, not their horsemanship, it was their zealous bestial nature. Their passion for blood and death made them feared all across the lands, and these sheep will feel their passion. With an _arakh_ to the throat.

The Ko will stay back for now and watch. He has already lost well over a century of his forces but it seems he will need no more. So he went down to the main road and began cleaning up any foolish leftovers with a group of ten of his best fighters.

They went about making crude jokes as they ended the lives of anyone barely living, as well as pillaging homes for goods and coins. It was moments like these that Ko Pono greatly enjoyed, the aftermath of a crushing victory. Taking the spoils and being known as the strongest horse in the stable. It made the Dothraki immensely proud.

He was out on the main street when a lone soldier of his came running towards him in a panting breath.

"My Ko," The soldier could barely breathe as he talked, "There is a demon-man on the battlefield, and he is slaughtering our forces… I've never seen such a monster."

Pono could see the fear in the man's eye, and he wonders what kind of demon this man speaks of, "Well what are you waiting for? Take me too him!" Apparently the Ko will have to take care of this himself.

The man answered with a right away, and Ko Pono with his group went forward to kill this warrior. At least the rest of his forces were able to take care of those archers and guards, so there would be no unwanted surprises.

When they reached the battleground the Ko witnessed a brutally magnificent sight in his eyes. The cobblestone was painted over in massive splatters of Dothraki blood, and the corpses expressed the story of what happened here. It reminded Ko Pono of a human butcher shop, by having limbs, torsos, and heads strewn over the grounds with organs being the spices. Over five dozen dead Dothraki littered the ground, more than a quarter of his forces falling to one man.

And that one white haired man stood in the center of it all; his clothes painted in the blood of Pono's soldiers. Blood even scattered across his face forming a demented tribal paint, and in his left hand was the hair of a slowly dying Dothraki kneeling on the road. The beast eyed being still had his blade protruding through the neck of the soldier as he slowly choked and died on the cold steel. That was until he forcefully ripped out the blade and threw the body to the floor; this was done while gazing directly at the Ko.

It would have haunted any man, and even a few of his soldiers stood uncomfortably, but this could not help but excite the Ko. It seems he will be experiencing a challenging like no other, a true demon to slay. He smiled as he rallied up his soldiers with a few words, "Gaze at what we have here! A tale to tell our children as we slaughter a demon brought into our world! Will my fellow soldiers back away now when we've finally been presented the gift of challenge!?"

They howled in excitement, his words bringing up their courage. He may be a ruthless man, but he has the charisma to incite his soldiers for a fight.

"You," He pointed the soldier that fetched him, "Go and bring Khal Drogo here, he would want to see the head of this demon after we rip it off," He sounded very sure of himself as he said that, but it was mostly a front. Reinforcements may be needed given the deadly strength this warrior possesses, but he must not allow his soldiers to know that. False courage was still courage in a way.

"But my Ko, he is miles awa-" He stopped speaking when he saw the deadly look Ko Pono gave him, "I will return as quickly as possible," He ran off in a hurry, hopefully he can find a horse and get to Drogo quickly. It was only the group of Dothraki and Geralt now.

Pono ordered his group to encircle the man, they will fight together to bring down this demon. It was a good thing he trained many of the warriors with him, their group tactics were impeccable.

Geralt lifted his blade and prepared for another fight, but this one would be different. He could tell by the steps these warriors took that they are seasoned veterans of battle. They were light on their feet and had a dancers grace to their movements, especially the bearded one that was speaking in that rough Dothraki language earlier. The wolf would have to stay on his toes in this battle.

Pono pointed to four of his ten warriors and told them to attack, it was time to test the strength of this warrior and see where his skills may lay. Any information he could glean would be beneficial for this battle.

They charged as one from all sides, but Geralt quickly rolled away from the killing ground in the middle. He cannot allow them to set the pace, so the wolf will be moving and striking in a guerrilla fashion. Once he recovered from his roll Gwynbleidd leapt towards the first attacker in his path and they clashed steel shortly, but Geralt stole a dagger from the side of the Dothraki and proceeded to cut out his throat with it. He used the same dagger as a throwing knife that plowed into the eye of another soldier before exchanging blows with the other two.

_It seems this warrior has some skill_, thought Pono. However the Ko will not just let his men fight so he charged in as well to provide some support. Once the Ko entered the battle, his soldiers will fight with him.

Geralt's brief exchange was interrupted as he heard the whistling of steel approaching from behind. Evading death by Pono, the wolf escaped the circle they tried to trap him into, it was time to start striking back harder than ever.

Each warrior though would not let up their assault. Every time the wolf tried to attack back he was forced on the defense, these men fought with a synchronization unlike the groups before. It was hard trying to find a gap in their defenses while Geralt evaded and blocked each sword aimed at his body. He needed an advantage somehow, _I believe I found what I was looking for_, Geralt smirked as he thought.

He kicked up a dismembered arm from earlier and it hit the face of the Dothraki that chased after his blood, it provided him a moments worth of distraction but a moment is all the wolf needs. When the screamer proceeded to rub the blood from his eyes, it was the last action he ever performed.

A blade pierced through his heart and Geralt used the body situated on his sword as a quick diversion, kicking it towards two other Dothraki running at him. Their lives ended as well when the wolf pirouetted through their defenses, his blade ripping away their souls.

However, it seems his attacking of them left an opening in his own defenses because Geralt felt a burning sensation enter his side below his kidney. This sensation can only be caused by a blade, and the wolf rolled away quickly enough to note that he had been slashed, and it was rather deep because it bled immensely. The blood loss will not stop him though, not now.

Some more Dothraki came for his blood but Geralt shot up to meet them, his left hand shooting forward to use his new found power. It came to him like second nature and the translucent blue light pushed forward knocking down the three riders. They were easy kills now and Geralt took that opening with pleasure as his blade cleaved towards them, ending the savages.

In his hurry to take their lives Geralt forgot to check his back, but he heard the blade come after him. So the wolf leapt forward in a roll to evade, however his upper calve was caught by the curved blade. It left a profound impression that forced a limp in the wolf's strut, and now it will be difficult to fight with this disadvantage as he prepared to end the final three opponents.

"You damn devil _maegi_, you will die here today!" It seems their bearded leader was quite livid with Geralt, but he could not tell what he said in that rough language of theirs.

"I don't understand you savages, just attack so you can die," Geralt was goading them into making a mistake now, and it seems like his words worked.

The final three charged in a blinded rage, apparently witnessing their allies die at the hands of magic or the insult set their blood to boil. Good, that means they will be sloppy. The wolf took a deep breath and prepared to perform swordplay that eyes could barely track. He would have to stand his ground considering he could only limp now, so when they struck he would be ready.

The first strike was pushed away and Geralt used the ponytail of the warrior to his advantage. He grabbed the man and threw him near the others path tripping their footing. However Pono was ready for such a tactic, and leapt over the other two. He and Geralt exchanged blows but it was only a briefly, a taste of what would come.

Gwynbleidd pushed him away and limped back to gain ground when the other two returned, but this time their pride was wounded as they charged. The overhead strike was foolish of them as Geralt slid to the side leaving one of them open to receive a decapitating strike that the wolf pounced on. He pushed the now headless body onto the other Dothraki and stabbed through it towards the heart of the other, they were both dead now.

The monster hunter was forced to pull out his skewer when Pono came to murder him with a side sweep. Another quick slide while favoring his wounded leg allowed him to evade, and now only Pono remains.

Both he and Geralt stared at one another waiting to see who would take the first step in what could be their last altercation.

"Your name," Geralt was surprised to hear what was asked of him in common tongue. Apparently this man knew some of the language.

"Geralt, and yours?" This could be the last man he ever sees, may as well be cordial with him.

"Ko Pono," No more words will be exchanged, their mutual respect of each other came from the interchange of names. Pono prepared to fight as he lowered himself slightly and lifted his _arakh_.

Geralt was also ready as he leaned forward with his sword in hand, he would wait for this leader to attack. Only then would he slay him.

The Ko of Khal Drogo exploded from the ground like a catapult, he would try to end this in one exchange and no more. The white wolf met his sword strike with one of his own and their interplay of lethal swords would make minstrels sing tales if they had witnessed.

Instead of two blades being visible in the ensuing battle, four seemed to morph forth. Their dexterous skill in the art of combat would leave many speechless as the battle continued into a torrent of swirling vigor.

Chink chi-chink! Clank-clink! Swash shiiing!

The noises were produced at such a rapid pace that one's ears could barely keep up to the sounds created from the colliding steel.

The only way this exchange of fatal thrashings will end is when one opponent initiates a mistake, and this mistake occurred at the slight overreach of the great rider.

Taking advantage of the _arakh _that passed by the hunters shoulder, Geralt struck with an uprising blow that cut open Pono's torso from hip to shoulder. The attack made the man stagger backwards into a fall, no longer able to stand as he spewed up blood.

It was magnificent duel; that the witcher could agree upon.

"I will…" The Ko began to speak in Dothraki, Geralt could not understand what his final words were, "be joining…the Night…lands…" After his words the leader stopped moving, his heart affected by the blade that shredded his organs.

The wolf stared at the chaos he wrought, roughly six dozen of dead Dothraki and a few wounds to show for the task. Now that the adrenaline of combat is wearing thin, the wound on his side and leg began to pulse angrily. The bleeding near his kidney was in a harsher condition than he anticipated, and it could lead to serious problems. However, he needs to get Mira and the kids out of the village now, while the roads were empty of Dothraki forces. They will escape by the river and head upstream, anywhere away from here was better.

He limped over to the side of the hut near the window of the room they stood in, Geralt will grab them from there and then the escape will begin. Once his hand landed on the side of the window he heard the quick sucking of air and a gasp.

"Mira…" He began with just that as his head appeared in the window, "We must leave; hurry."

The wolf saw an absolute look of relief pass by the mother's face, as tiny pinprick tears began to form at the side of her ocean blue eyes. She grabbed her children and quickly ordered them through the window. Each child grabbed onto the hand of Geralt as they climbed through the window.

Geralt quickly turned to Rakos, "Cover your sisters eyes, she does not need to see this," The boy nodded his head and grabbed his sisters head and pushed it into his tunic while whispering into her ears. She nodded her head and closed her eyes, it seems she had no desire to observe the battleground as well.

Once Mira was through the window she harshly grabbed Geralt by the face and proceeded to suck the life out of him with a kiss. The wolf responded in kind, and neither cared to be seen by the eyes of the children. When she let go she spoke in a whisper to him, "I thought you were going to die, thank the Shepard you are still here," The hunter only smiled and hugged her close, but the time for pleasantries is over. They needed to move, and now.

"Come we must make haste," He grabbed the farmer by the hand and proceeded to trot down the main road in a painful limping jog. They cannot stay here any longer.

"You're bleeding Geralt," Mira was worried as she saw the blood seep through his hand clenched over his side, "that wound needs to be taken care of."

"Later, right now we must leave," They were not moving as fast as he would like, _this damn limp_, Geralt thought. He needs to hurr-.

A multitude of clopping hooves entered Geralt's earshot, and a ball of ice collapsed into his stomach.

He quickly turned his head behind him in time to see a rather large cluster of horse riders turn the bend on the main road. The horselords were charging towards their group, and Geralt was forced to stop and prepare.

"Everyone get behind me!" They had no time to run for the river, the Dothraki were closing in on them too quickly. So Geralt raised his sword for another battle, however he noticed a sharp stinging pain shoot through his side at the action. These wounds will greatly hinder him, _I do not know how this will play out now,_ the wolf was now worried.

Mira stared on in dread, they were so close! Why now, just when they were going to get her children to safety. Dothraki were truly the bringers of despair in her life.

The makeshift family watched as over twenty individuals slowly trotted forward now that the group was spotted. The lead in front vaulted from his horse and landed on the butcher-like battlefield. He was a large man that had a braid which flowed to his buttocks, a Dothraki leader of some sort Geralt could tell. Only a leader carries such an aura of dominance and battle grace.

Khal Dorgo looked upon the death field with a keen eye…He appreciated it immensely. Sure many of his men were part of this graveyard, but he gave much respect to strength. It was a Dothraki custom, because the stronger your opponent the stronger the individual will become. If one man was truly the artist which painted this deathly scene, then the Khal wished to see who the better painter was.

His eyes fell on the white haired man guarding a family, this was the man. The veteran warrior screamed inside his soul at the sight of this beast. Yes, judging by his stance and those predatory eyes, the mighty Khal was in for a test.

When the wolf gazed upon the rest of the group that came with the rider, he noticed a silver haired pregnant woman among them. Instantly his wolf medallion began to shake at her presence, and the monster hunter noted this oddity. The medallion only shook in the company of the other amulet so why her? Is she connected to it somehow, does she know who he is? However, Geralt had no time to ponder such questions because the main rider began to speak.

"You," The man pointed towards him and spoke in common tongue, a lot of these Dothraki seem to be capable of the speech. "You are the man who butchers my men and kill Ko Pono," It was a statement not a question.

"And if I am?" The monster slayer kept his voice even with his dry pitch, best not seem unconfident in the presences of this man.

The leader smirked at the reply, "I must return welcoming you give us," The man's smirk turned into a grin of battle lust as he pointed his _arakh_ towards Geralt. "Otherwise I not the Great Khal Drogo!"

Geralt heard Mira's sharp intake of breath at the name, and that was all the confirmation he needed to know this man is deadly. If Mira reacted to his name, then the leader was well known.

"Stay back and do nothing rash," He whispered to the family behind him, "If you perform any sudden moves the other riders will come for you." He stared at the mother from the corner of his eye to make sure she understood his words. When she nodded her head Geralt turned back to the other warrior and slowly started moving forward to meet him in the center.

The great rider could see the limp in the man's step and how he catered to his side more than the other. It seems he received some injuries in the battle before, but so did Drogo. However Drogo's were nowhere near the same extent as Geralt's, considering the Khal still had good function of his sword arm and legs. The old _maegi_ healing spells worked well.

When both of them met in the center they prepared to enter a duel of death. Geralt looked towards the other Dothraki nearby wondering why they did not get involved, however the Khal answered his unasked question for him.

"Worry not of the others, they just watch," Drogo could see the question in the beast like gold eyes so he decided to placate the man's worries, "Only I and you shall dance for death."

Both stared at each other without hesitation and lifted their swords to signify their ready state.

Drogo shot forward first.

* * *

A few moments before…

Daenerys Targaryen rode at the side of her husband as they began to close in on the location they were headed. From the stories she heard about this white haired man he was quite the skilled warrior. Able to cut down multitudes of Dothraki signal handedly, but she was wondering why such a Valyrian looking man even lived in this area? Maybe she could find out more of Westeros or he could even be a Targaryen, but she knew she was the last one. She still had some hope though and she will have her answers soon enough, as long as Drogo does not murder him.

When they made the turn around the bend of the main road they came upon the battlefield. Dany hesitated to call it a battlefield, it seemed more like a Dothraki executioner's palace with all the body parts decorating the road. It almost made her sick, but she has gain a tolerance for such sights now. After all, she watched as her own brother's head became incased in molten gold while he screamed in high pitch. A crown fit for a king such as him. It was a pity because Dany only wanted what was best for him, too bad he could not see past his greed.

When she laid eyes on the man they were searching for, she witnessed he rose his blade in protection. What he was protecting was a family, a grown women and three children. One was a young girl and the others two older boys. It seems that this mysterious white haired man has a family to protect, and he would cut down droves of Dothraki in making sure they were alive. It was quite sweet actually, it seems a true knight stands before her.

The _khaleesi's_ heart went out to them, but this is the way of war. Nonetheless, when the white haired man's eyes found their way to her, Dany almost gasped. Such mystical gold dragon eyes… Does the blood of dragons run through his veins like they do hers? Sure they are not violet or indigo like many Targaryens, but only someone of magical descent can have dragon eyes like him. Who is this mysterious fighter?

Before the heir had a chance to even ask these questions, Drogo was off his horse and speaking to the warrior. It seems a battle is about to take place and Dany could not help but worry as to whether her sun-and-stars will live.

She climbed down from her horse to get a better view from the sidelines by being up ahead. Ser Jorah joined her at her side as the loyal guard always did. She was glad to have his presence to calm her down slightly, but her heart still thumped madly at the sight before her.

Both warriors are now ready to kill each other, and she could only watch how this battle plays out. She hoped that her lover still stood at the end of this, for to be without him would cause her heart to shatter. Only time will tell.

Drogo was the first to shoot forward, and the white haired man met his blade with Drogo's _arakh_. Each time Drogo's sword flew to his opponent it was stopped in midair by a longsword. Enraged by the defense the man put up the Khal began to dance around his opponent, using his advantage of mobility over the witcher.

The riders braid whipped around him as his _arakh_ came striking like lightning towards the wall like defense. This time the white haired man was limping back, losing ground as he tried to parry. Dany could tell that the man was injured and seemed to be bleeding quite a bit. This injury will be detrimental in his battle with Drogo.

Geralt could not believe the skill this man possessed, the rider hardly seemed human with his massive power and deceptively fast agility. It would be a difficult fight because he lacked the momentum and adrenaline from his previous battles. His wounds were much more prominent now because they had the time to show themselves, for it is easier to maintain momentum then build it.

It doesn't matter, because Geralt must win. For if he fails, the family behind him will suffer a fate he does not wish to imagine. He used this enraging thought to his advantage and began his counter attack. He waited for the proper moment while keeping up his defense and found it when the _arakh_ came rushing down on him from overhead. Geralt met that blade with an uprising strike of his own pushing the blade back and surprising Drogo.

Gwynbleidd tried to leap forward and finish him off but his wounded leg lacked the power needed for this. So the witcher was not quick enough with his downward swing and the Khal was able to evade by leaping back and gaining ground. When Drogo felt a sting he saw a shallow cut pass down his sternum, he would have died had he not evaded.

"Good you are," Drogo complemented, "But defense will not let you live, and your wounds makes you weak. You will die here." He was threatening as he spun the weapon in his hand.

The wolf did not speak and lifted his sword noting the massive pain in his side, it was difficult holding this blade now as he panted with labored breaths. The rushing of this fight also caused his blood to pulse quicker, making him bleed more and lose stamina. He needs to end this.

Drogo was cautious now as he stalked in a circle around the beast eyed man, his braid flowing behind him. Geralt made sure to constantly keep him in his sights, losing awareness of this opponent meant death.

This was a strange battle in the eyes of Dany, for even wounded this man almost killed Drogo. Never before has she witnessed such skillful combat, for these two are matched. The thing that terrified her though was that Drogo was matched by an opponent who could only use one leg and could barely lift his sword. Such skill was unnatural, which made her pray for the Khal's safety.

The great rider has a plan for their next clash. When Drogo came in and their swords collided he made sure they stood together and grinded steel. Staring directly into the gold eyes of his opponent the Khal's knee came exploding towards his wounded side. It hit its mark.

Geralt cringed in pain as his wound's heat increased tenfold as it ripped open more, however he responded with a left hook of his own. The Khal's head felt a sharp crack as his face turned to the side, but before they broke up their encounter Drogo kicked forward and hit the witcher in the lower stomach knocking him back.

When the wolf lost his footing Drogo struck with a side sweep that left a cut across the chest of Geralt, but it was superficial. However, the great Khal did not let up in his assault and used the rotation from his swing so he could set his shoulder and came barging into the chest of the white wolf pushing him back.

The monster slayer ended up tripping over a discarded limb from the previous battles and landed harshly onto his back while hitting his skull on the stone road. He felt a giant's foot crash into his sword hand forcing him to release the longsword and watched as it was kicked away. _How ironic,_ Geralt thought,_ tripping over dead Dothraki_, it seems even death they serve their Khal. The witcher's world spun as he gazed upwards towards the towering man and watched as an _arakh_ was pointed at his throat. It seems the blood loss affected him more profoundly in this battle than he anticipated for he could barely see now.

"You lose demon eyes," Drogo enjoyed this battle immensely, it was a shame he could not fight the man at full strength. For the Khal wondered if this victory was even pure, fighting a man who has one foot in the grave. Yet it matters not for this is the way of war.

He lifted the blade up and prepared to execute the man below him-

"WAIT!"

A black haired woman came running onto the battlefield and kneeled next to the head of the white haired man, "Please! I beg you, do not kill him!" She had tears in her eyes as she held the man's head and stared up at Drogo. The Khal was barely moved, if he stopped murdering someone at the wailings of women the world would be overpopulated.

"Move!" Drogo commanded, she would make a good slave though. No need to kill her.

_This fool!_ Geralt's mind screamed towards the woman, why was she performing this foolish act. It would change nothing.

"Please, you Dothraki have already taken so much from my family, and now you come to take more from us still! Just let us leave we want nothing to do with you!" She felt the hands of her children on her back now. They decided to stick close to her as they too begged for sympathy.

The Khal was getting angry now, it seems they wish to die together so be it. They will meet their god hand in hand in the afterlife. He prepared to slaught-

"Drogo," This calm voice came from behind him this time, forcing him to look back at his _khaleesi _as she approached him, "Allow me to claim this family as my slaves."

Once again she enforces her power as _khaleesi_ to perform kind deeds, it seems this family's begging got to the heart of the moon of his life. However the Khal will not let this family slide without reason, "You use power to treat the weak; it will not go over well with others."

It seems Drogo will need some convincing before acquiescing to her request, "Would it not be greater to be known as 'Drogo the demon enslaver', you will show your might to the whole of the _khalasar_ as well as those on the Dothraki Sea. And you will have the proof to show for it." She needed this man alive, he may have answers to her questions about his status. Is he a long lost Targaryen or something else with those magical eyes?

"Also, it will please me," She finished her reasoning with that, Drogo always tried to please her.

The Khal frowned towards her before barking orders to his soldiers. They went to fetch the chains so they would not try to escape, "You are too kind, others will take advantage," Drogo stared at his moon while he stated that. All she did was smile and thank him, the dragon will always get her way.

Once the chains were grabbed, they placed them on the family, but Dany noticed that the white haired man was in no good shape travel right now, "Fetch me the godswife," She told this to Ser Jorah and he nodded.

"Why…" Dany turned to see it was the black haired mother, still cradling the man's head in her chained up hands, who asked her this.

"Because I wanted to," She needed no more reason.

Mira scoffed, "So now we will be slaves to be used at the pleasure of savages," she spat on the ground, "I would rather die."

"No," Dany's voiced contained such harsh commands that Mira sat up straight and looked her in the eye, "That will not happen, because you are under MY protection," She made sure that the mother understood that.

Mira stared up at her in skepticism, not knowing whether the silver lady is lying or not. She could only take her word and hope for the best. As long as her children are safe she will be happy. She looked back down to see that Geralt lost consciousness, the blood loss and the rough events of the day finally catching up to him. She could never thank the man enough for all that he has done, so for now she just proceeded to kiss his forehead.

Dany heard someone scream something in Dothraki and looked back to see Mago, the rapist, came stomping onto the battlefield towards Drogo. It seems he is quite distressed.

He was having an argument in Dothraki with the Khal, "You let this foreign bitch once again cloud your judgment and allow this devil into our midst! You are no Khal, you are a fucking craven with no cock! A man ruled by his wife!"

Mago pointed his _arakh_ at the Khal while he stated this, apparently he seeks blood now.

The Khal threw his _arakh _on the ground and roared in Dothraki, "You raise your disgusting tongue to me! I will make sure no one burns your body for you to ride to the Night lands with honor!"

Drogo charged at him barehanded, dodging each strike launched at his person.

"Beetles will feed on your body, as the worms crawl through your skull!"

He grabbed the wrist of the man swinging at him and took his _arakh _from him, "You have no right to hold this blade," Drogo proceeded to rip out Mago's throat with his own blade. He made sure to rip out his wagging tongue from the hole in his neck, he will no longer speak to a Khal in such a manner again.

He held the tongue up to the rest gathered, "Does anyone else wish to wag their tongue at the Khal do so NOW!" No one said a thing.

Drogo will remain undefeated to this day.

* * *

(Unkown Area)

"Sir, I have found a trail as to where the amulet leads, in a few more weeks I will find the world where it resides," Aelle always had great respect for his leader. A man such as the red leader deserved nothing but respect.

"Good," He was happy to hear the report, it seems he will be meeting Geralt again quite soon.

"Sir, will you be telling the king?" The King really wanted to know the current situation of the amulet.

"Don't worry Aelle, he will know everything soon enough…" Aelle could not help but think that was rather ominous.

**AN: So how was it?! Everyone seemed to think that Geralt would just own Drogo right off the bat, and while I do agree a healthy Geralt could murder anyone in the GOT universe 1v1, this was not 1v1, this was like 1v70. So yeah, if anything I think I made Geralt to OP. Just so you guys know there are humans in the witcher verse that have killed witchers. Leo Bonhart being one of them, he actually killed three so yeah there's that. And Drogo is a damn good fighter, after all he is undefeated for a reason.**

**Well now that, that is out of the way tell me what you guys think. Was the fight scenes crappy, characterization off. To much detail and description, to little detail. Any constructive criticism will be helpful, because the better writer I become, the better chapters you guys get to read.**

**Well till next time!**


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